


chaste.

by kagehao



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Attempt at Humor, Babysitting, Big Brother!Mattsun, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Grocery Shopping, Libero!Reader, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, Manager!Reader, Meet-Awkward, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Producer!Hanamaki, Producer!Reader, Screenplay/Script Format, Sleep Deprivation, Sleep-deprived!Reader, Tropes, Volleyball, awkward cuddling, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagehao/pseuds/kagehao
Summary: chaste: nonsexual, platonic, innocent / "a chaste kiss on the cheek"updating tags as i update chapters!





	1. ceiling fan lullaby. [ tsukishima k. ]

**Author's Note:**

> Salutations, friends!
> 
> Just a quick note: a majority of what I will write and add into this compilation will be platonic, hence the title of the work. Unfortunately, I will not be taking any sexual requests because I am not comfortable with it. Also, this is my first time writing in the Haikyuu fandom, so please be kind. I do take constructive criticism, however.
> 
> I hope you enjoy these. :D
> 
> Without further ado, I present to you our very own salty middle-blocker, Tsukki!

_**In which yoghurt milk is consumed, empty threats are casually thrown around, and two best friends fall asleep to a ceiling fan’s lullaby.** _

 

It’s the early hours of dawn when she catches him still up and seated on the couch using his physics textbook as some sort of surface to write on. To be frank, this is most likely the fifth time she’s caught him studying, rather than sleeping. Under the dim lighting, [Name] can see the darkening half-moon bruises under his eyes.

 

“So, how’s the not dying going?”

 

The boy refrains from scowling at the question, and instead, chooses not to answer, keeping his head low. He continues with his task, in which he is answering several questions from a textbook in his notebook, mechanical pencil scratching away at his paper. His friend, used to his dismissive attitude, rolls her eyes at him before shuffling towards the fridge to grab a yogurt milk drink.

 

One might wonder why exactly [Name] is within the very presence of the youngest Tsukishima at around two in the morning. You see, they’re not roommates, but they might as well be. Her parents are always out on business trips, and the Tsukishima matron always manages to convince the young girl that their family can care for her in the meantime. Of course, she agrees, because who could possibly reject an offer (and ignore guilt-trips) made from the sweetest woman?

 

Her living arrangements when she is with them consists of sleeping on their youngest’s bed, while said youngest resides on a futon on the floor. She felt bad the first time she stayed with them, and she secretly still does, but she knows that he doesn’t care whatsoever. [Name] and Kei have always been rather close friends - bordering into a platonic friendship - so in turn, both sets of parents never minded about anything inappropriate happening between their children.

 

Having explained some of the contexts, let us continue with the story: [Name] stabs her straw into the drink box as she approaches him, mindful to keep at a safe distance from the cranky teenager. She sips thoughtfully from her drink, observing him from afar. Tsukishima heaves out a great sigh, pulling his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

 

His computer is on his lap (but barely so - it’s pretty much dangling off the edge of his knees, and she wants to scold him for it), and his pre-calculus textbook is digging into his thigh, flipped open to the appropriate section for reference to what he’s working on in his notebook. He’s wearing dinosaur pyjama pants, much to her amusement, and a light orange shirt.

 

[Name] is near finished with her drink (it’s starting to make that irritating noise that announces the end of the beverage), but she decides to pointedly sip despite there being close to no liquid left in the box just to spite him.

 

It works.

 

“Hey,” he mutters. “Stop that. It’s obnoxious.”

 

The girl stops for a brief moment, only to recommence her annoying sips, an impish smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Tsukishima raises his eyes to the girl, his gaze angry and heavy. She gives him a small shrug, then acquiesces in stopping, throwing the box away.

 

“You’re so annoying,” the blonde huffs, rubbing at his temples. He still has not put his glasses back on.

 

[Name] then makes the decision in walking towards him, stopping in her tracks as soon as she’s behind her best friend.

 

“That’s what you get for overworking yourself, Stingy-shima,” she says, placing her hands on his head. He’s about to swat her hands away, but then she starts to card her fingers through his blonde locks.

 

“What are you doing.”

 

It’s not a question; it’s more of a statement, and she snorts.

 

“Trying to soothe you.”

 

“Keyword: trying.”

 

[Name] scoffs, feigning offense, tugging on several strands of his hair to shut him up. She relishes the nearly inaudible noise of surprise that he makes at the back of his throat, and she can’t help but laugh quietly at his reaction.

 

“If it isn’t helping you, then you should at least say something,” she says, already letting go of his hair, choosing to respect his privacy. She knows that he normally dislikes being touched when he’s stressed out.

 

Before her hands are fully retracted, he leans his head back. The tips of his ears are pink.

 

“Did I mention anything about me wanting you to stop? No. You came up with that conclusion all on your own. _Boke_.” There is no malice behind the insulting name. Rather, there’s an amused lilt to his otherwise indifferent tone.

 

There’s a pleased smile spreading on her face, and she resumes in sliding her fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter closed. He lets out a shaky breath of relief a few minutes later, and [Name] starts to sing a small tune under her breath to fill the companionable silence between them. Soon enough, her fingers make their way to his temples. Then, she begins to work at his neck’s pressure points, nimble fingers finding spots that make him tense in his seat.

 

“You work way too hard,” she comments with a click of her tongue, already transitioning to knead at his shoulders.

 

His head lolls to the side when she finds a knot, giving her more access, and her fingers work into his skin to unravel and soothe the tight muscle. His breaths are shallow now, and she’s not sure whether he’s fallen asleep, or not.

 

“Tsukishima?” She says softly, and when he doesn’t reply, she tries again. “You still awake?”“

 

“Mmnh...”

 

A quiet, airy laugh resounds at his mumbled response. [Name] makes the move of pressing a chaste kiss to the top of his head, her lips lingering in the soft tufts of his hair. Unsurprisingly, this does not faze the older boy in the slightest. She stores his glasses away. She walks around the couch, lowering his computer lid shut before placing it on the coffee table. She tidies his belonging, making sure to bookmark the section of his pre-calculus textbook using his mechanical pencil that she’s taken from his loosened grip, setting it next to the laptop. Then, she slips his physics textbook out of his arms, placing it underneath the other heavy textbook.

 

“Come on, let’s have you lie down,” she whispers, placing a hand on either side of his arms. He obeys in a sleepy daze, lowering himself to a semi-comfortable position with [Name]’s guidance. “Good thing it’s a weekend tomorrow, or else we both would have died in the morning.”

 

He moans, annoyed at the fact that she’s still talking. “I’m trying to sleep here, woman.”

 

“You could have saved all of this fuss if you would’ve just slept earlier, Kei,” the young girl counters with a shake of her head.

 

His nose scrunches up in distaste at her mild nagging, choosing to shift his stance so that his back is to her. [Name] takes advantage of this opportunity to childishly stick her tongue out at his dozing figure before taking the throw blanket that sits on an armchair nearby to drape it over him. Once finished tucking him in, she looks at her work with her hands on her hips, nodding to herself once. She’s about to leave him be when his groggy voice stops her.

 

“Pillow,” he states, and she nearly whacks him upside the head at his shamelessness.

 

“Oi, what am I, your servant?”

 

“No,” he says, taking a glance over his shoulder to look at her, a small yet languid smirk on his face, “but you’re my best friend.”

 

She glares at him. That isn’t an excuse for him to be ordering her around. “Is that how you get poor Yamaguchi- _san_ to do stuff for you? I feel bad for the poor boy.”

 

Honestly, the reason why she resists in doing what he wants her to do is simply because she doesn’t want to walk to their temporarily shared bedroom, grab a pillow, walk back to give him the pillow, then walk back to the room. It’s too much work for someone who isn’t even worth it (this is a lie, and she knows it - he’s everything to her).

 

“You’re such a nuisance in my life,” she grumbles, her head hanging as she ponders whether she should obey his subtle request.

 

“Hah,” he chuckles. “I beg to differ. After all, you’re in my house, sleeping in my room; not to mention, you’ve also taken refuge in  _my_ bed while I take the floor. Who’s the nuisance now, [Name]?”

 

“Still you.”

 

Nope. She isn’t going to do it. The fact that he’s still keeping up his reputation of being a clever prick annoys her to no end (because who does this when they’re half-awake?), and this confirms her decision in not fulfilling his demand for a pillow. His eyes narrow at her before he drops his head, curling an arm under the crook of his neck in a lousy attempt for a pillow substitute, then continues to ignore her.

 

Her nose twitches at his immaturity, and she steps forward to lightly slap the back of his head, an idea forming in her head. “Up,” she instructs, and he grunts. “Do you want a pillow or not? Hurry up before I change my mind, brat.”

 

“Do you have a pillow?”

 

“No, but I have my lap.”

 

There is a pause, and she is close to simply retreating to the room, but he lifts his head, much to his reluctance. [Name] positions a hand on the side of his head, supporting him in keeping it raised in order to take a seat. Once she’s in place, he adjusts himself so he isn’t face-to-face with her upper body and lowers his head so it sits on her lap comfortably. He’s now looking to the ceiling, where the ceiling fan whirrs.

 

The girl sighs a little, willing herself to relax. She knows her entire lower body is going to end up numb sooner or later due to his heavy head, but she knows that the idiot blonde needs his sleep. He’s thrown an arm over his eyes.

 

“Are you comfortable?” He questions, his voice near quiet.

 

[Name] looks down at him, vague surprise evident on her features. It’s been awhile since he’s shown concern for her, and his question catches her off-guard. She’s suddenly thankful that he has his eyes covered, or else he would have been offended at her reaction.

 

“I’m going to wake up with pins and needles all over, but,” she closes her eyes, leaning her head back, “I’ll manage.”

 

“Okay,”

 

“Go to sleep, Kei,”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

 

They fall asleep to the soft drone of the ceiling fan.


	2. garbage chute rendezvous. [ kuroo t. ]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the title of this work: ironically, the meeting between the pair was /not/ an agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my frick, a little over a hundred hits already after one chapter? That's crazy, thanks, guys!
> 
> By the way, I'm nowhere close to finished with many of the boys that I'm going to be writing about, so this chapter will be the last one for a while. I'll try to write and finish up quickly.
> 
> Anyways, here's Kuroo for you. I hope you all enjoy, because I certainly did.
> 
> Much love,  
> Teacup

**_In which bra-wearing-brothers are involved, a joke about a dead body is made, and flowers of death are offered._ **

**_( Two-point-five-thirds of these events are performed in front of a garbage chute. )_ **

 

“[Name]- _chan_ , could you please take out the trash?”

 

The girl in question is in the balcony area, occupied in doing her daily chore of saturating the plants, quietly singing to herself. Her hair is up in a bun with loose strands framing her face delicately, and the crisp spring breeze causes it to whip against her face, obscuring her vision just a little. Her mum’s request isn’t left unnoticed, and she sets the metal watering can down next to a pot of marigolds with a soft exhale. She then steps back into the apartment, all the while wiping her damp hands on the fronts of her elephant pants, and leaves the slide doors open for the gust to circulate within the [Last Name] household.

 

“[Name]!”

 

“ _Okaasan_ , I heard you well enough,” the young girl says with a light-hearted roll of her eyes, and her mother responds by flicking soap suds towards her teenaged daughter.

 

[Name] laughs, then resumes in executing her task, retrieving the rather large garbage bag from one of the compartments under the sink. _Tch, my family’s filled with a bunch of slobs_ , she muses. She secures it tightly with a knot in order to prevent the contents from spilling out. As she is busy tying it, her little brother comes rushing out of the laundry room, a bra wrapped around and over his eyes. He’s giggling hysterically as he runs past her, and [Name] groans at the small demon’s antics.

 

“I’m going to take care of you as soon as I come back, Katsumi!” She calls over her shoulder, already making her way towards the door. What she doesn’t catch is the taunting face that the small boy makes behind his older sister’s back. Before the door closes behind her, she can hear the aggravated shriek from her mother followed by a delighted squeal.

 

She can’t help the fond smile playing on her lips at the thought of her endearingly ridiculous family (yes, they may be annoying at times, but that doesn’t mean her love for them will waver). [Name] readjusts her grip on the black bag in hand before giving up completely and lets it slide against the floor, deeming it too heavy to carry it properly. There’s a sound of a door closing loudly, but she pays no mind to it. She keeps her head down as she walks to the garbage chute, making sure that there is no residue trailing from the trash bag, then looks up when she hears another set of footsteps approaching her.

 

It’s a boy standing in front of her, and he looks just about surprised as she is. Last time she checked, the eighteenth floor is solely inhabited by a few old couples, a pair of newlyweds, a family with triplets, and an elderly man. [Name] has never come across a person her age, much less a teenaged boy.

 

Obviously, she’s taken aback due to his sudden appearance, but she chooses not to say anything; instead, she decides to examine the darkly clothed stranger with curious eyes. He’s tall, with a slender build (he pretty much towers over her and she hates it). The red sports jacket that he dons over a simple black shirt accentuates his upper body rather well. He’s wearing skinny jeans that are distressed especially around the knee area. He’s simply dressed - nothing too special, really - but [Name] has to suppress a small smile at the sight of his hair. It’s a monstrosity. He looks like he’s just woken up. _It adds character_ , she supposes. Her gaze goes to the objects he’s holding: a lily bouquet in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other.

 

Rejection from someone he likes? A break-up?

 

~~What a shame, if it’s any of the two.~~

 

She registers a second too late that he’s looking at her as well, but when she musters up the courage to look at him directly in the eye, she finds that his stare is fixated on the bag that she holds in tow. [Name] follows his line of sight, and for some odd reason, a warmth spreads across her cheeks.

 

“It’s not a dead body if that’s what you’re wondering,” is what she blurts out at the same time he inquires, “would you like these?”

 

\---

 

Kuroo Tetsurou knows that it’s going to be a bad day when the door behind him slams closed, breaking the tranquility of the building. He freezes at the loud noise, grimacing when it reverberates throughout the entire apartment residence, and to be frank, he’s quite surprised that an angry old man hasn’t come out to murder him yet.

 

_Sorry, Obaasan._

 

He swears that it’s the cursed wind that caused the door to shut forcefully, not him. He sighs in relief when the noise disperses into nothing, allowing himself to slacken. He then looks at the items held tightly in his hands and holds back the urge to throw them against the wall. That would only make even more noise, and he wants to live, thank you very much.

 

He turns at his heel, already making the decision in throwing the gifts away - they’re of no use now. He’s still glaring at the bouquet of flowers and the box of sweets when he notices that there’s another pair of footsteps walking towards him. He stops in his tracks, raising his head.

 

He wasn’t expecting to come face-to-face with a young girl, and apparently, neither did she with him (because let’s face it, nothing is weirder than seeing a person your age in everyday life). He’s unable to speak as he stares at her, a look of utmost bemusement on his face as he observes her.

 

Everything about her radiates softness, he remarks inwardly. She’s the absolute opposite of the boy, who is all rough around the edges, but perhaps she compliments him. He’s scared that if he lays a hand on her, she’ll be tainted, but what he doesn’t know is that she can well enough take care of herself. What _she_ doesn’t know is that though he may look rugged, he has to admit that he’s a bit of a dork on the inside.

 

The fact that she’s barefoot is what he takes note of first. Also, she’s short. He comes up to a conclusion that she would barely come up past his shoulder if she was to stand next to him. _A good height for an arm rest_ , he quips to himself, nearly letting a snicker slip past. She’s wearing a [preferred colour] body-fitting tank top with a pair of harem pants that is patterned with paisley flowers. Her hair is up in a loose knot on her head, and several [h/c] wisps emphasize her cheekbones. Her [e/c] eyes have a dazed look over them as she gives him a once-over, and he suddenly feels as if she can see right through him. To distract himself, he eyes at the bag that she’s hauling behind her, and she follows his field of view. Her cheeks are now tinted red, and he momentarily feels pleased with himself.

 

He closes his eyes fleetingly. Maybe...

 

“Would you like these?” He asks while simultaneously she exclaims, “it’s not a dead body if that’s what you’re wondering.”

 

The silence that had nearly swallowed them previously returns, and to Kuroo’s dismay, it’s even more awkward than the last time. It envelops the two teenagers after their sentence collision, and the volleyball captain almost feels bad for catching the poor girl off-guard for his forwardness (but then again, they’re both at fault, because really; what kind of pick-up line involved a dead body?). However, he’s slightly amused by her interjection and the rueful look on her face following afterwards. He smiles a little in an attempt to ease the awkward tension between them, shifting from foot to foot.

 

“It’s okay if you say no,” he says, fingernails digging into the flower stems as he fidgets uncomfortably, “I was going to throw these away, anyways.”

 

She blinks at him twice, and the action itself indistinctly reminds him of a certain salt-and-pepper haired ace spiker.

 

“I’m allergic,” she says steadily, and Kuroo is about to apologise for his insensitivity, but then -

 

Then, she surprises him with a gentle smile, and he’s sure his heart is about to jump out of its place at the sight. “I’ll take them.”

 

Before he knows it, he’s returning the smile as well. The girl’s adorable in her own way, and he’s quite fond of her already. He steps away when she makes a move to walk to the garbage chute that is located right beside them, and he patiently waits for her to finish the chore, eager to get rid of the gifts in his hands.

 

She soon emerges from the tiny garbage room, dusting her hands. When she’s out, she takes her place in front of him again. He offers her the objects, reaching them out to her impassively, and she accepts.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, Bedhead _-san_ ,” she says, “but why were you planning on throwing these away?”

 

He chuckles lightly at the nickname. How unoriginal. He can let this pass just once.

 

“I don’t have a use for them anymore,” he says simply, lifting a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. Now that his hands are free, he sticks them in the front of his jacket pockets.

 

“Oh? Were you rejected?” She’s inspecting the box of chocolates, turning it over to the bottom to read the different flavours that are assorted.

 

“Rejected?” He repeats with a crinkle of his nose.

 

“A break-up, then?”

 

He purses his lips to keep his laughter in. “Break-up?”

 

This time, she raises her eyes to meet his, and her eyebrows are knitted together. “You know, if you’re not comfortable in sharing, you really don’t have to.”

 

“No, no, it’s just,” he lets out a breath of laughter, “did you assume I was in a relationship because of the flowers?”

 

Her cheeks are dusted pink, and he watches her nod slowly. He runs a hand through his hair, straightening his composure.

 

“I guess it was inevitable for strangers to think that when they have no context of the situation behind this,” he says pensively before continuing to explain: “The gifts were for my grandmother’s birthday, but it turns out, she’s allergic to lilies. Much like you, but she was more adamant in having it thrown away,” he gives her a tiny smirk, and she averts her attention to somewhere else to avoid blushing even more. “As for the chocolates, well, I forgot that she hated them. I hate chocolate too - they make my head hurt - so I had no use for them. I have a team that I need to feed, of course, but knowing them, they’ll end up crashing from a sugar-high in the middle of practice if I give them any sort of sweets. I’m lucky I ran into you because if I _did_ throw them away, it would have been a waste.”

 

She nods along as he talks, and he’s endeared to know that the girl is listening attentively.

 

“Well, that clears things up, I guess,” she says, laughing quietly as she tucks the box under her arm. She cradles the bouquet close to her chest.

 

“I guess,” he echoes, pocketing his hand. They are quiet once more, but this time, it is companionable. Then, before it’s too late, he says hastily, “I’m Kuroo, by the way. Kuroo Tetsurou.”

 

There it is again, that gentle smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kuroo- _san_ ,” she acknowledges with a tilt of her head. “I’m [Surname] [First Name].”

 

A lopsided grin. “Well, [Surname]- _chan_ , are you really allergic to lilies? Because if you were, you would have been dead by now. Or, at least, sneezing up a storm. What’s your secret? Tell me, my grandmother could use a few extra years.”

 

She hides her face behind the flowers, validating his suspicion that she is, in fact, _not_ allergic to the white blossoms.

 

“I just - It was meant to be a joke! You looked anxious in throwing them away, and I suppose I felt responsible for taking the weight off your shoulders, so I just...came up with that last minute in order for you to feel at ease...” she trails off, eyes still hidden behind the petals. She lowers the bundle to look at him defiantly. “They’re beautiful as well, so obviously, I wouldn’t let you throw them away.”

 

“Okay, jeez, sweetheart! Don’t get all defensive on me.”

 

There’s a shrill squeal coming from behind [Name], and the pair jump, startled by the intrusion. A boy about six years old comes tumbling around the corner, giggling hysterically. There’s a pink lace bra covering his eyes, and blindly, he runs until he rams right into the legs of [Name].

 

[Name] gasps, looking more than offended at the little tyke. “Katsumi, you brat! Where’d you get this?” She questions, swiping the undergarment off of his head (she has no shame in flourishing the lacy item around, but it’s possible that she’s so caught up in scolding the boy to remember that Kuroo, a hormonal teenaged boy, is standing right in front of her with a _bra being waved in front of his face)_.

 

He does his best in keeping his sole attention on the girl in front of him, but he soon looks to the younger boy that barely comes up to her hip. Underneath the...undergarment, there is a smiling face, and Kuroo just about dies at his cuteness.

 

_They look similar._

 

“I’m so sorry, my brother - He’s a bit of a handful - ” the girl stutters, sticking the bra into one of her pockets, and Kuroo hides a snigger behind the back of his hand. She doesn’t catch it, fortunately. “Oi, be respectful. Say hi, Katsumi.”

 

“Hi, Katsumi!” The boy squeaks before doubling into laughter at his little prank.

 

[Name] sighs, but her annoyance has seemingly dissolved. She ruffles his hair as he hugs his sister’s leg tightly, peering up at Kuroo in curiosity. The older boy watches the very entertaining exchange unfold before him, laughing to himself.

 

“I think this is my cue to leave,” [Name] announces with a sheepish smile. She hands her brother the box of chocolates and he takes it eagerly, a toothy grin on his face. “It was really great meeting you, Kuroo- _san_ ,” she says, attempting to bow with a little boy attached to her leg.

 

“You too,” Kuroo bows as well, and when they both rise, he sports a boyish half-smile. “We should hang out, sometime.”

 

Katsumi gasps excitedly before his sister could respond, looking at the two teenagers. He tugs at the hem of [Name]’s shirt, glancing back and forth between the couple. “With me, _Nee-chan_? With me?”

 

She sighs in exasperation. “Oh, Katsumi - ”

 

“Of course,” Kuroo interrupts, not wanting to crush the kid’s optimism. He lowers himself down at eye-level with the little boy, giving him a smile. “ _[Name]nee-san_ and I - we’ll take you out for ice cream, some day.”

 

“Really?”

 

He nods. “Really.” But Kuroo can tell that he isn’t convinced, and he glances up to see [Name] watching them, enlightened. He turns his attention back to Katsumi, scratching an ‘x’ on the left side of his chest as a sort of vow. “I promise.”

 

Katsumi then chooses to look up at his sister, his eyes squinting comically. [Name] raises her hands up in surrender before mimicking what the teenaged boy did. Seemingly satisfied, Katsumi topples towards Kuroo, wrapping his arms around his neck. The box of chocolates hits his upper back, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it at all.

 

“He seems to have warmed up to you,” [Name] observes.

 

Kuroo can’t help the blush that colour his cheeks, but he squeezes the boy back nonetheless, then pulls away to ruffle his hair.

 

“Alright, now go back to where you came from,” he teases, and Katsumi giggles, obeying. They wait for him to be out of sight before Kuroo stands to his full height, alone again with [Name].

 

“Do you have a pen on you?” She asks, and he pats himself down before finding a pen in his back pocket. He hands it to her and she takes his wrist, writing several digits. “Don’t hesitate to call me.”

 

With her hand still on his wrist, he alters their hand positions so that he’s now holding hers in a gentlemanly fashion. He brings himself down to a semi-bow, lips brushing over her knuckles, looking up at her through his lashes.

 

“‘Til we meet again.”

 

A pause, then a snicker.

 

“You _do_ realize I just took the trash out right?”


	3. fake tasks and face masks. [ akaashi k. ]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Hacks in Making Her Say She Loves You
> 
> 1\. Claim to be her boyfriend in times of need  
> 2\. Accept her offer to give you a facial treatment (even if you have flawless skin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salutations, friends!
> 
> WHAT THE HECK, OVER 500 HITS AND 31 KUDOS? GUYS. G U Y S.
> 
> I'm so sorry for not being able to update. I was originally going to publish an Iwaizumi one-shot, but it got a bit lengthy and frankly, it was a mess in terms of plot. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! Also, I'm taking requests now, so please, feel free to do so.
> 
> Much love,  
> Teacup

_**In which desperate times call for desperate measures and he is later rewarded with a facial treatment.** _

 

Akaashi Keiji is not a very blessed man when it comes to directions.

 

As intelligent as he is, the second year university student simply cannot understand the concept of it. Therefore, he stands amidst a sea of bustling strangers, a brow twitching in vague annoyance as he, in vain, searches for a bright, familiar face. He puffs out his cheeks in an exhale when he fails to do so, hanging his head to hide his building discomfort. He slips his phone from the pocket of his orange hoodie to occupy himself (and to reassure bystanders, and himself, that he is, in fact, _not_ lost) before moving away from the middle of the sidewalk. He scrolls through the photos on his camera roll in order to appear as if he is busy, one foot tapping impatiently. He was to meet with his housemate after his afternoon classes, but he got lost along the way. This is a little deflating to his ego, for this isn’t the first time he’s gotten off-track. His phone buzzes, signalling a text message, and he quickly opens it.

 

From: doe eyes

To: sleepy eyes

sos

 

Perplexed and a little taken aback, Akaashi rereads the message. _SOS?_ As if on cue, he hears the sounds of agitation and surprise coming from passersby and the incessant apologies following afterwards. The boy chuckles to himself, pocketing his phone. He steps forward to greet her, but it seems as if the girl has not seen him. He squints, taking note of yet another figure chasing after her. He wills himself to move in front of her as a precaution, ceasing her momentum and causing her to crash into his chest with an alarmed squeak.

 

She inhales sharply, looking over her shoulder to realise that her classmate hasn’t given up yet. Frantic, she sidesteps Akaashi. “If you could just excuse me, sir, I need to get through-”

 

“How polite of you to call me sir,” Akaashi says, the corner of his lip quirking into a tiny half-smile as he blocks her path.

 

He can see her eyes widen in astonishment before fluttering closed in what seems like relief. She rests her forehead on his chest, momentarily catching her breath. But before she can speak, they both hear a squawk for attention, and she perks up.

 

“Come along, hurry up,” she says, pulling on his arm as she attempts to speed-walk away. The setter stumbles as she drags him.

 

He gawks at her in puzzlement. “What’s with you?”

 

“Let’s get out of here first, Akaashi,” she hisses, pinching his forearm. He stifles a yelp at the abuse, scowling defiantly at his close friend.

 

“[Name]- _chaaan_ , don’t run away from me! You haven’t agreed to my proposal yet!” A rather annoying voice, Akaashi has to admit, calls from the crowd.

 

The red-headed stranger doubles over as soon as he reaches them, hands on his knees as he pants loudly. He’s a bit...dishevelled, to say the least. His collar’s popped up and his tie is loosened, and honestly, he looks like a mess. Akaashi peers down at him with a combination of masked amusement and confusion, and [Name] gives him a glare that tells him to behave. He sniffs, shrugging one shoulder dismissively as he turns away. He wasn't planning on anything, so why did she throw him a pointed look? Geez.

 

“So, [Name]- _chan_. Do you accept?” The boy asks, straightening to look at her with a hopeful gaze.

 

His expression is enough to break her, Akaashi realises with a bit of disappointment, because she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in embarrassment.  “Ah, M-Miyano- _kun_ , I don’t think-”

 

“What’s going on?” Akaashi interrupts, purposely butting into the conversation as to allow the girl to dodge the question.

 

He expects the other boy to sneer at him, or to tell him to screw off and that it’s not of his business. What he doesn’t expect is for Miyano to somewhat recognise him (Akaashi  _does_ happen to be one of the regulars in his university volleyball team and they had had a game showcased live on television recently).

 

“Hey, you look familiar!” Miyano exclaims excitedly, pointing at the other male. Akaashi stares at him strangely. “Do you go to the same university as the both of us? Do you know each other?” He seems to catch himself before his face sobers. “Um, anyways. Could you please excuse us for a moment? I have something to ask her.”

 

[Name], who has let go of his arm, rubs a hand over her face in vexation. “Miyano- _kun_ , I have already declined twice.”

 

“Nope, I attend another university,” he says, intervening once more, albeit being delayed a beat or two. “And regarding your second question; I certainly hope so, or else this would be a little awkward,” he doesn’t bother to look at the girl who stares up at him, incredulous; instead, he maintains firm eye contact with the other male. “I’m her boyfriend, after all. Who are you?”

 

At this sudden declaration, Miyano looks like he’s going to faint. Akaashi refuses to allow himself to smirk smugly, chewing at the inside of his lip to suppress whatever victorious look he's sure to give the other boy. [Name]’s jaw is slack in shock at his deadpan expression, but she quickly composes herself, closing her mouth. As if to prove a point, Akaashi circles an arm around her waist confidently before pulling the petite girl closer to his chest, but his fingers barely touch her waist. To hide this flaw, [Name] chooses to place a hand atop his, easing her fingers between the gaps.

 

Miyano, the poor boy, soon snaps from his brief trance. “Boyfriend? [N-Name]- _chan_ , you didn’t tell me about this!” He sounds devastated.

 

“We wanted to keep it private for a while,” she says sheepishly, her cheeks dusted a rosy pink. “ _Gomen ne_ , Miyano- _kun_ , but I can’t accept.”

 

“Ah, no!” The other boy stammers, waving two hands at the pair, his face flushed. “I should be the one saying sorry to you and your, uh, boyfriend.” He lets his hands fall to the side before promptly bowing at a ninety-degree angle, nearly screaming as he asks forgiveness. “ _Gomennasai_ , for trying to pursue you even when you were already in a relationship. I-I didn’t know you were in one. _Gomennasai_!”

 

[Name] smiles gently, shaking her head. “It’s okay, Miyano- _kun_.”

 

Miyano rises from his position and looks at Akaashi through his eyelashes cautiously, keeping his head low. Akaashi, in turn, nods to him in acknowledgement. The other boy dismisses himself quickly, but not before apologising once more, and the two watch him as he leaves in haste.

 

Akaashi releases [Name] from his hold with a soft sigh. He watches as she closes her eyes, assumedly trying to comprehend what had just happened. The ravenet stretches his hand, feeling a dull, fuzzy warmth that spreads around the back of his palm where [Name]’s hand had previously rested.

 

“Don’t mention it,” he says, turning his heel. Then, he adds after a pause to soothe his curtness, looking over his shoulder, “please.”

 

As the (fake) couple walks to their desired destination (which is back to their shared apartment), there are no more words exchanged between the boy and girl. What both teenagers do not see, however, is the obvious colouring on their cheeks and the muted smile on their faces.

 

\---

 

The story ends with a clear-skinned boy receiving a facial treatment on a cloudy Sunday afternoon.

 

His head is nestled in the lap of a crossed-legged [Name] with his fringe pulled back neatly by the girl’s old butterfly hair barrettes. A lo-fi chill playlist gently sounds in the background with a small electric fan humming right next to the pair, the cool breeze hitting Akaashi’s thigh. As he dozes, [Name] is busy coating olive-coloured cream across his forehead, most of his face already covered with the beauty product. His eyebrow twitches when she runs her finger down the bridge of his nose in what seemed like an affectionate manner. He then feels her lean over to the side, presumably to grab the damp towel placed nearby to cleanse her fingers from the cosmetics.

 

“ _Ne_ , Akei?”

 

His breathing stutters at the utterance of his rarely used nickname. He refrains from peeking a curious eye up at the girl; instead, he stays quiet. She sighs a little in mild exasperation before threading her fingers through his black hair.

 

“ _Arigatou_ ,” she says, but it’s like she wants to say something else. He doesn’t comment, though.

 

“I told you not to mention it,” His voice is a little hoarse from lack of use. This is because they did not speak much after yesterday’s incident (Akaashi was a little more affected by it than [Name] was, ironically).

 

“Well,” he can picture her scrunching her nose from behind his eyelids, “I didn’t exactly mention _anything_ did I?”

 

“ _Shittakaburi_ ,” he says with a snort. He is about to scratch at his temple, but the girl smacks his hand away before he can do so. He groans. “How long do I have to have this on?”

 

“Around thirty minutes. Patience, Akaashi. Beauty is pain.”

 

He lets a smile slip. “Can't you see that I'm being patient,” he mutters, resisting the urge to throw an arm over his eyes. Not like that would do anything, really. His eyes are already closed, and he doesn’t plan on opening them anytime soon - in fear of seeing her possible endeared expression. That wouldn't be a bad sight, it's just-

 

He's whipped enough already, okay? And he has been ever since the second year of high school, and here they are in their second year of university living together in a two-bedroom apartment filled to the brim with plants that he's sure are dying, and  _sure_ , this situation is a little overwhelming, but with how she's humming a nonsensical tune under her breath while attempting to braid his fringe, he knows he wouldn't trade  _this_ for anything.

 

[Name] laughs airily. “I love you,” she says suddenly, and he can  _hear_ the smile in her voice.

 

Akaashi's words get stuck in his throat, but he knows that she wouldn't mind if he didn't say it back. He knew that she knew that he loved her too.

 

It’s quiet once more, and he is suddenly aware of everything; from the soft jingle of the seashell wind chimes from their balcony to [Name]’s fingertips tracing his earlobe absentmindedly. If this is what he gets for saving her yesterday, then he could be her fake boyfriend anytime.

 

~~Maybe even the real thing, one day.~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shittakaburi - smart ass


	4. cardiac arrest. [ iwaizumi h. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 700 hits and 40 kudos? You guys are unreal, thank you so much!
> 
> Here is the Iwaizumi one-shot that I was planning to publish earlier but had to postpone since the plot was all weird. I think it still is weird (I got too caught up in the volleyball action, most likely), but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. Iwaizumi needs more love, I swear.
> 
> Also, I realized a recurring theme with my one-shots and my writing: somehow sleeping together always ties into the story? Like, it's not even intentional anymore. I just love the napping together trope. I love it. Bear with me. I'll try not to feature it in the next one-shot.
> 
> Anyways, here it is!
> 
> I'm taking requests too, so don't hesitate in commenting down some ideas.
> 
> Much love,  
> Teacup

_**Two times in which she gives him a heart attack, and once where her heart aches because of him.** _

 

**1**

25-25.

 

It’s a deuce. Both teams are gasping for air, trying to catch their breaths.

 

He can tell by how she’s fidgeting with her knee-pads and jumping from foot-to-foot that she’s anticipating for the ball to come to her. Both teams have used up their timeouts, but that doesn’t stop their coaches from yelling out encouragements and pointers from the sidelines. It’s been a long day for Kitagawa Daiichi’s girl's volleyball club, having won two games with the current one they’re playing being the third of the day, but he’s impressed to see that each one of them is still _smiling_ albeit the obvious pressure.

 

“We’re doing great, ladies. Chin up, we can do this; just two points to go!”

 

Iwaizumi Hajime swears he’s nearly blinded every time she smiles or speaks - to be quite frank, he’s starting to feel offended. How could someone be so...so... _bright_? His eyes narrow at her figure. She’s the only player on the court with a contrasting uniform, indicating that she’s a libero. Stray strands of baby hair stick to her temple and she shakes her head, braid falling to the middle of her back, obscuring the number four on her jersey. There’s a genuine smile etched onto her face and she’s occupied in patting a teammate’s back before resuming to her stance. He inhales sharply when the girl looks up and catches his eye, subconsciously taking a step back.

 

“What’s wrong?” His best friend questions beside him, arms folded as he leans himself against the railing.

 

“Nothing, I’m just caught off guard, I guess.” Iwaizumi lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Their mental strength is amazing, and they’re still in junior high, too. They’re going to be monsters next year.”

 

His counterpart, Oikawa Tooru, cracks a grin. “But then again, we were monsters too.” He then hums thoughtfully in agreement. “I honestly think the reason why they’re holding up so well despite their clear fatigue is because of their libero. She’s not the captain, but you can tell that she’s the glue holding them together. The captain’s doing great with her leadership, though.” He adds as an afterthought.

 

“I’ve never seen her before,” Iwaizumi says, pulling his lips into a tight line.

 

“Who, the libero?” Oikawa lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I remember seeing her around a few times last year whenever I passed class four, so I assume she’s in that class. Her name’s [Surname] [Name]. She’s a year below us, I think, so that makes her a third year now in junior high.”

 

“I see.”

 

Their conversation is interrupted by the audience’s roaring cheers - the opposing side is now at match point. With their attention back to the game, Iwaizumi sees the previously relaxed expression on the libero’s face waver. Even from this far away, he can see the subtle twitching of her left eyebrow. He moves forward, interested to see what she’ll do.

 

Slouching over with her head hanging, [Surname] places her hands on her knees to calm herself. He can hear someone screaming  _nice serve_ , and once the referee blows his whistle, the girl’s head is raised, eyes now sharp with concentration.

 

“Let’s do this!” She yells.

 

The ball barely flies over the net, grazing the top of the line. Kitagawa Daiichi’s number six, a girl with platinum blonde hair cut in a bob, shrieks when it falls to their side, but she makes no move to get it, seemingly glued in her place (it makes sense, he supposes, for they must be at their limit by now). Everything that passes in the next few milliseconds happens quickly, and the boy does his best to keep up; one second [Surname] is on her toes, and the next, she’s on the ground, palm flat against the floor.

 

“Nice,” Iwaizumi mutters under his breath, nodding approvingly.

 

The ball rebounds from the back of her hand up to the setter, who tosses it up. [Surname] gets back to her feet as soon as the ball is set to the left wing spiker, ready for a block follow. Fortunately, the hit goes past the block cleanly, but it is received by their libero. The receive does not go to their setter, however, and goes past the net.

 

“Chance ball,” [Surname] announces, arms spread to signal she will be the one receiving. She proceeds in bumping it to the setter once more.

 

The trio making up the forefront other than the setter take a few steps back in preparation for an attack. The ball goes up to the middle blocker, who aims her hit to their weakest receiver. Another girl from the opposing team comes in to cover, causing the ball to go to their setter effortlessly.

 

Their setter jumps up, and soon, everything’s in slow motion.

 

Due to the sudden shift in mood, Oikawa sneers in disdain, apparently knowing what is to happen next. It appears to Iwaizumi that [Surname] also has an idea, for she starts forward, making a dive for the ball -

 

But she’s a second too late.

 

She’s on the floor, regressing to her position just minutes prior, but this time, the ball does not hit the back of her palm.

 

The gymnasium is silent. The only sound comes from the ball that bounces away from Kitagawa Daiichi’s side of the court, rolling to a stop in front of the scoreboard nearby. The scorekeepers stare at the ball, speechless.

 

25-27.

 

The whistle blows. The game has ended.

 

\---

 

“That was undoubtedly  _the_ pettiest thing I have ever seen someone, other than myself, do in a volleyball game,” Oikawa grumbles as the two walk down the hall, making their way to the exit. “It’s good that [Surname] _-chan_ kept her head up and smiled the entire time.  She has good morale. That setter dump must have been painful for her. Poor girl.” He straightens his composure, leaning back with his arms behind his head. “I would have done that too, though.”

 

“You sure are a jerk,” Iwaizumi chuckles dryly, rolling his eyes.

 

His laughter falters when he hears muffled sniffling coming from the hallway to their right. The two boys exchange perplexed glances, stopping in their tracks. Oikawa tilts his head towards the side, gesturing for the other boy to check. Iwaizumi glares at him defiantly before doing it anyways.

 

What he sees is a girl on her knees, facing the wall with a blank expression reigning her features, tears trailing silently down her cheeks. He looks over his shoulder for assistance, only to see that Oikawa’s taken a few steps away from him, taking an interest to a potted plant.

 

 _So much for being best friends_ , he thinks with a small scoff. The brunet looks back to the girl, noticing that her shoulders are trembling. Biting his lip gently, he chooses to make his presence known. He clears his throat.

 

“Excuse me,” he says.

 

The girl freezes at the sound of his voice, then takes a few moments to wipe her eyes with the heels of her hands. She sniffs and lifts her head to meet his gaze. Iwaizumi gulps when he recognizes that the girl in front of him is none other than [Surname].

 

There is a brief pause between them as the teenaged boy collects his thoughts.

 

“I hope you realize how amazing you and your teammates were on the court today,” he says finally. “You girls fought until the end, and you gave it your all. You should be proud of yourselves. You’ll do great in high school; both you _and_ your teammates, I’m sure of it. Same goes for your boys as well.”

 

[Surname] stares up at him, lips parted in shock. She purses her lips, casting her eyes to the floor, and truth be told, Iwaizumi’s panicking a little. Did he say the wrong thing? Crap, maybe he said the wrong thing. Why did he even listen to Oikawa, anyways, that stupid jerk. He’s sure he rubbed even more salt into the wound -

 

The libero stands, watching him with steady eyes, before bowing and Iwaizumi nearly chokes.

 

“ _Arigatou gozaimashita_ , Iwaizumi- _san_ ,” she says in a clear voice. She straightens, the corner of her lip curved up into a grateful smile. “For watching our game and for those kind words.”

 

This girl is going to give him a heart attack one day, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

 

“Ah, _h-hai_ ,” he says uncertainly.

 

“Anyways,” she slaps her hands on her thighs pointedly, “I should head back to my team. Thank you again, Iwaizumi- _san_. I’ll see you next year.” She doesn’t bow this time. Instead, she inclines her head in acknowledgment before strolling away.

 

“Next year?” He repeats, dumbfounded as he makes his way back to the lobby area, where he’s sure Oikawa is.

 

“Oi, Iwa- _chan_! Are you done being a knight-in-shining-armour yet? I’m hungry!”

 

“Shut up, Trashykawa. If you want something to eat, you’re going to buy it for the both of us. Consider it payback for ditching me with a _crying girl_!”

 

“Did you get her number, at least?” A whack. “Okay, that’s a no. Ow, stop hitting me, that hurts!”

 

**2**

[Surname] [Name] steps into the multipurpose amphitheatre, vaguely pleased to note that the typically riotous area is empty and devoid of any disturbance. She pockets the keys given to her by the receptionist. Rays of early morning sunshine peek in, greeting the young girl as she glances around to make sure she is the only one present. Exhaling, she allows her bag strap to slip off her shoulder, said object landing on the floor with a muffled _thunk_.

 

A content smile soon makes its way on her face as she examines her surroundings. Sure, it’s common for new students to find it difficult to adjust to a new school, but standing at the door of Aoba Jousai’s pristine gymnasium, [Name] is startled to find that she feels very well at home. She busies herself in rolling the sleeves of her cream-coloured hoodie up to her elbows as she makes her way to the storage room where the volleyballs are kept.

 

The young girl exits the storage room while tossing the volleyball back and forth between her hands, familiarizing herself with it. She spins it on her knuckle to pass time as she scrutinizes the wall she’s standing in front of. Blowing a loose strand of hair away from her face, she pats her knee-pads in preparation (a sort of ritual she does before practicing). Finally, she shifts her feet so as to get into position, and stops the ball’s rotation entirely before placing it on her left hand with her elbow drawn back and poised to hit.

 

She tosses the tri-coloured ball just above her head and slightly away from her then swings. The sound of impact the ball makes against the floor before ricocheting off the wall is a sound that injects adrenaline into her system. As the ball flies up and in front of her once more, she hits with a downward flick of her wrist. She repeats this drill twenty times until she has to jump to hit the ball, and her shoulder starts to ache from overuse.

 

She tuts when she finishes, a minuscule scowl on her face as she glowers at her offending body part.

 

“Useless thing,” she mutters, rolling her neck to the side as she stretches her arm.

 

She grunts as she bends to retrieve the ball and [Name] just about slams her back against the wall in an attempt to support her weight on the surface. Slowly, while rubbing at her shoulder, she slides down until she’s seated. She had taken her hoodie off a long time ago, tossing it carelessly to the side the instant she felt her sweat weighing her down.

 

[Name] doesn’t even know why she bothers in drilling hits when her preferred (and official, back in junior high) position is libero. She stares at her hand, a wistful expression on her face as she recalls the defeat she had faced with her team a few months prior. Now she is in a new school, and though her love for volleyball will never cease, she had decided to not join the girl's volleyball club. It wasn’t a heartbreaking defeat, per se, but it still impacts her pride as a libero, not being able to save that setter dump. Her heart aches dully at the thought, and she pays no mind to it, knowing that if she did, it would consume her entire being. She lets her hand that rests on her shoulder fall to the side, leaning her head back to the wall.

 

Her tranquility is short-lived when she hears rambunctious laughter coming from the entrance of the gymnasium. She sighs and closes her eyes, praying for the intruders to go away.

 

They don’t.

 

\---

 

“For the last time,” he insists tiredly, “pineapples do _not_ belong on pizza.”

 

The brunet setter drops his bag to the wooden floor carelessly, rummaging through his contents to find his volleyball shoes. “I don’t understand all this hate with pineapples. I personally think they taste fine on pizza.”

 

“Your statement further supports my theory that you’re not normal,” Iwaizumi says with a snort, shaking his head as he, unlike his best friend, settles his messenger bag next to the doorframe delicately.

 

The other boy perches himself along the ledge of the entrance, slipping his outdoor shoes off to replace them with his volleyball ones. Iwaizumi follows his example, except he stands, leaning one hand against the doorframe for support as he pulls his own shoes on.

 

“How long do we have until school starts?” Oikawa asks distractedly, bent over to tie his laces, the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration.

 

“A good hour-and-a-half, I believe,” Iwaizumi responds, standing upright with his hands on his hips. He looks to where Oikawa is seated and realizes that the door has already been unlatched. That’s weird. “Wasn’t Akihiro- _senpai_ the one who closed down last time we had practice? That was a week ago, right?”

 

“Yeah,”

 

“Then why is the gym open?”

 

Oikawa rises and follows his best friend’s line of sight. Indeed, the doors of the gym have been opened and the protective netting that prevents stray balls from rolling away is down as well.

 

“The school guards must have opened it up for the janitor to clean, or something, I don’t know. Don’t let it bother you.”

 

“It’s still strange...”

 

Oikawa shakes his head a little in amusement then jingles the keys in his hand. “Come on, Iwa- _chan_. Let’s set up.”

 

Iwaizumi gives him a nod, following him into the building. As the two second-years unlock and look around the storage room, the aforementioned realizes that the Mikasa carrier full of volleyballs is missing.

 

“The volleyballs aren’t here, so I’ll be right back,” he calls out to Oikawa, who’s occupied in unraveling the net (and getting himself tangled in the process). He then takes the keys that Oikawa has placed on top of a nearby shelf to gain access to the other room.

 

He jogs over to the alternative side of the gym where the roll-up drape divides the court, slowing to a stop in front of the unlocked room. _Open? Again?_ Iwaizumi thinks. The hammock cart is out as well, but it is still filled to the brim. It doesn’t seem as if someone has taken a volleyball from the pile, either, so why is it here?

 

As he contemplates about the pros and cons of entering an unlatched storage room alone, he hears the familiar bounce of a ball coming towards him. Alarmed, he looks down to see that the ball has hit his feet. He bends over to pick it up, examining the ball and places it in the carrier.

 

The carrier moves to the side just a bit, but it’s enough for Iwaizumi’s heart to stick itself in his throat.

 

“This isn’t funny, Trashykawa,” he declares lowly, but as he says this, there is loud, familiar whining coming from the court that he had previously been in, signaling that Oikawa is still in the room, probably struggling to free himself from the net.

 

He lets out a sigh of relief, concluding that it was the wind that caused the cart to move. He places the ball in the cart along with the others before starting to haul it away, only to realize that it is stuck. He groans.

 

“What now?” He hisses, stepping to the other side of the cart to see what is preventing it.

 

He jumps, stifling a yelp as his hand flies to the left side of his chest when he sees a hooded figure seated right next to the legs of the cart.

 

“You wound me, Iwaizumi- _san_ ,” they say with an airy giggle. They look up, and [e/c] meets olive green. He inhales sharply. “It’s good to see you too.”

 

**3**

She has to admit, it’s...a little surreal.

 

She’s standing at the sidelines of the court, a clipboard hugged to her chest with a mechanical pencil tucked into the back of her ear as the boys finish the first set of their practice game. When the whistle blows, signaling a brief break before the second set commences, [Name] sets her clipboard onto the bench in order to distribute water bottles. With a gentle smile, she instructs her _kouhai_ to do the same, but with towels.

 

The boys approach the girls, taking the needed articles with a muttered yet sincere thanks. A few stray older players have surrounded the two coaches, nodding their heads along to a strategy Coach Irihata is explaining. Oikawa then suggests an idea with his best friend panting beside him. She watches, amused, as Iwaizumi takes a water bottle from the pink-brunet wing spiker. He throws his head back before squeezing the bottle for the water to stream into his mouth.

 

“Geez, Iwaizumi, why can’t you just drink out of the bottle like a normal person?” She can hear Hanamaki say, his nose scrunching up in distaste. When he sees that his vice-captain has taken his share of the water, Hanamaki snatches it away from him. “Also, ask before you take. Though you may seem pretty mature, you really aren’t, sometimes.”

 

Matsukawa sniggers. “He’s probably scared of indirectly kissing you.”

 

Iwaizumi wipes the excess water (and sweat, probably) using the back of his hand, rolling his eyes and choosing not to answer. Feeling someone’s gaze on him, he glances up to accidentally meet the eyes of [Name]. Stunned and flustered over being caught studying him, her cheeks flush. The boy offers her a lopsided grin before nodding in acknowledgment.

 

Okay.

 

Let me explain some context.

 

After their rather embarrassing encounter last year, as Iwaizumi so eloquently puts it, Aoba Johsai’s current vice-captain and Kita-iichi’s former libero have quickly settled into a comfortable relationship that involved friendly bantering and late night video calls. Sadly enough, [Name] never did join the girls’ volleyball club, much to the wing spiker’s disappointment. Instead, she had applied to be the official manager of the boys’, and, unsurprisingly, was acquired the position. The team quickly accepted her as one of their own, and they’ve all taken good care of her (at least, that’s what they like to think; it’s more of the other way around). And here they are now, with [Name] already training her adorable _kouhai_ and the boys prepping for the Interhigh preliminaries.

 

“Yahaba, stop picking on Sayuri- _chan_ and wipe the floor - you’ve spilled the water everywhere, you _jerk_!” Kindaichi barks.

 

[Name] puffs out her cheeks in an exhale, trying not to roll her eyes for what seemed like the nth time as the offender and Kindaichi bicker in front of a confused Sayuri. She sees Iwaizumi raise his hands to smack the both of them upside the head, presumably, but before he is able to do so, the second-year girl clears her throat.

 

“Save your hands for hitting the ball, Iwa- _kun_ ,” she chides teasingly, their attention falling on her. The boy lowers his head, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. Satisfied with this, she makes a passive-aggressive jab at the other two. “Seeing that neither one of you are making a move to clean this up, I’ll take care of it. Go get ready for the next set, and make your Oikawa- _san_ proud.”

 

“A-Ah, _gomen_ ,” Kindaichi says, and she’s flattered to see that he bows a little after apologising.

 

“It’s fine,” [Name] laughs, her mild annoyance at the two of them ebbing away as she shakes a hand from side-to-side. Once Kindaichi awkwardly makes his exit, she looks to the tawny-eyed boy and steps up to him, flicking him in between his eyebrows. “ _Baka_ ,” she deadpans. “You’ll be captain next year. You’ll get your chance of getting girls soon. In the meantime, stop harassing my _kouhai_.”

 

Yahaba’s about to retaliate, but Iwaizumi beats him to it with a nudge to [Name]’s side. “The second set is about to start, [Name]. I’ll make him do twenty serves when we get back if that makes you feel any better.”

 

“Only twenty?”

 

Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow at the younger boy. “What, do you want more?”

 

“You’ve gotten really soft, Iwaizumi- _san_ ,” the brunet says with a soft sigh, but there is no animosity behind his tone of voice. There’s a faint smile on Yahaba’s face as he obliges to his vice-captain’s subtle hint of getting back to where his remaining teammates are, leaving the two of them alone.

 

“Good job out there, _kishi_ ,” [Name] says, beaming at him. The whistle blares, making both teenagers look up at the referee. The game is about to start. She lightly tugs at a strand of his hair before he makes his way to the court, and he reciprocates the gesture, yanking at the tail of her braid gently; a good luck charm of theirs. “Now go make your team proud.”

 

Later, Seijoh wins both sets, 25-18 and 28-26.

 

Everyone moreorless collapse into their seats the minute they board the bus. Once [Name] finishes up placing the volleyball ball bag into the trunk and slides the hood closed, she steps into the vehicle, a yawn slipping past her lips. A deep fondness warms her heart at the sight of the boys - _her_ boys - laying atop each other, eyes closed in exhaustion. Seeing as there is no space in the front (her usual seat next to Sayuri is occupied by Kindaichi, assumedly to protect the youngest from Yahaba, who sits behind them), she situates herself in the window seat at the farthest row right next to Iwaizumi and many of the team members’ school bags.

 

“I hope you don’t mind me sitting here,” she says, attempting to make herself comfortable (key word: attempt. Iwaizumi sits very boyishly, [Name] notes, with his legs spread wide, leaving little to no room for hers. Oh, well. She can make way with it). “You didn’t need to move to the side. You could have taken the window seat and I would’ve been just fine next to the bags.”

 

“Well, it’s too late to really switch places now, isn’t it? You look like you’ve made yourself at home,” he laughs softly, gesturing to her position, “I don’t mind at all, [Name]. It’s okay.”

 

“You’ll be able to rest?”

 

Iwaizumi glances to the various bags fixed precariously on top of each other. “I’ll...manage.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

\---

 

They’re thirty minutes into the bus ride when Iwaizumi groggily wakes up because of constant shifting beside him. He straightens in his seat and cracks his neck, hearing the satisfying _krrk_ of his bones loosening. He looks to where [Name] sleeps, feeling a pang of guilt when he observes the condition she is in.

 

She has somehow moved so that her figure is, quite literally, folded into the corner: her upper back is reclined against the window, and she has somehow managed to pull her knees to her chest, her cheek resting on one. Realizing that she’ll probably wake up with her body aching all over, Iwaizumi makes the hesitant yet chivalrous decision in rearranging her...limbs.

 

He carefully cups a hand under her knees and hooks them over his thigh, her legs now dangling in the space between his. The bus is colder now due to the blasting AC and Iwaizumi nearly clicks his tongue in exasperation when he remembers that she had forgotten bring her jacket. To be safe, he leans forward, cautious in not waking the sleeping girl, and removes his to drape it over her as a makeshift blanket. Then, he curls a lock of hair that has strayed to her face behind her ear just for good measure.

 

Content with this change, he resumes his stance prior to his mission in repositioning the girl. He folds his arms across his chest, settling into his seat and lowers his head, eyes closing. He breathes in heavily and waits for the gentle sway of the bus to soothe him to sleep.

 

Forty-five minutes have passed, and since then, [Name] has shifted at least twice from her position. She is now pressed towards Iwaizumi instead of against the window, the side of her upper body melted into his. Her head is tucked comfortably into the crook of his neck while his head leans on hers, and the jacket falls on both their laps.

 

As the pair snooze, Hanamaki and Matsukawa peek from over the backs of their seats to study them. The pink-haired boy punches his best friend in the shoulder at the scene in front of them and after a few seconds of floundering his hands around in a wild gesture to _freaking get a camera_ , he manages to communicate to Matsukawa that they need a photo or a hundred for evidence (and possible blackmail) _stat_.

 

[Name] accidentally catches a glimpse of a particular photo as she watches him exchange apps on his phone a week later, and her heart aches at the sight.

 

His background screen is of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kishi - knight
> 
> Y'all,,, I just realized how inconsistent I am when it comes to storylines I'M SORRY
> 
> And to anyone who's wondering as to why Iwaizumi and Oikawa were watching a girl's volleyball tournament: it's because the Kita-iichi's volleyball boy's team had already finished theirs, and the two friends had time for one set. Coincidentally enough, it was the girls' last set out of three of the day, and [Name] just so happened to be on the court when they arrived.
> 
> (The Kita-iichi's boy's team are in the background cheering their girls on, trust me on this.)


	5. blue tone, brown tone. [ sugawara k. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1K hits, and around 55 kudos, I am so BLESSED.
> 
> Because of hitting the 1K mark, I chose to update this just so I could thank you guys. So. THANK YOU SO MUCH. WHAT THE HECK. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. I always say that, and it will continue to be true. Anyways, I'm sorry if this is a little angsty for our Suga, and I apologise in advance if it's OOC.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy this one-shot!
> 
> (Little disclaimer: this work had already been published originally as a Reylo one-shot and under a different name on AO3, but I had deleted my last account where I had published it accidentally. )

_**In which thunderstorms become its own season,** **many varieties of teas are consumed, and sleeping** **is near impossible.** _

 

It rains on the dawn of Saturday, November 19.

 

[Surname] [Name] only notices that it is as soon as she hears a boisterous clap of thunder, her not-so-fragile heart skipping two beats before it bounces back to its normal rhythm. Lowering the volume of her television until it is just one mere click away from being muted, the girl slowly stands, careful not to disturb her sleeping left foot.

 

She glances at the clock. _5:15AM._

 

[Name] lets out a tired sigh, rubbing her hand down her face. Well, at least she’d gotten thirteen hours of sleep the day before. That was considered an accomplishment  **―** only to be rewarded with thirty minutes of straight-up vomiting right after she had woken up.

 

Joy.

 

Before exiting her bedroom, she grabs the well-worn cardigan that rests on top of her work desk and pulls it on. She shuffles out to the dimly lit hallway, standing there with her arms crossed and hands tucked into her armpits. She hears a lovely melody, most likely coming from the depths of her housemate’s bedroom, and allows herself a smile  **―** even though it is slight.

 

At least one of them is getting their rest.

 

Roughly fifteen minutes later, [Name] finds herself staring out the window blankly with her hands cupped around a steaming mug of chamomile and lemongrass tea. Her usual meditational area is in a corner where she would stand leisurely with a cup of hot tea in hand, peeking out the large windows to observe smaller, almost toy-like, versions of people scurrying on the streets and sidewalks below.

 

Drops of rain race down the glass exterior of the large windows and collect onto the window sill, forming a big puddle before it rushes down the edge in a miniature waterfall. There are a lot of windows in this apartment, she notices, but hardly enough light streamed through due to how grey the city she is in constantly was  **―** especially in the autumn. She is so close to the glass that the steam coming from her tea fogs up against the surface, blurring the city view. When the fog disperses, she is met with her reflection, and needless to say, she's taken aback with what she sees.

 

Gone is the optimistic girl whose cheeks are tinged a rosy blush, and whose skin has a healthy glow to it. Here stands a troubled young woman, unrecognisable even to her own eyes, with gaunt features and torn lips (made from her own doing). A colour that closely alternates between a blue tone and a brown tone occupies the half circles under her eyes; a physical trait that she is yet to grow accustomed to.

 

To say that she's tired is a huge understatement.

 

In fact, [Name] didn’t think that it's humanly possible to verbally explain the exhaustion she is feeling right then and there. She takes a thoughtful sip of her beverage and wonders. Wonders when the last time her eyes closed willingly and wonders if she’ll ever have the chance to sleep peacefully once more.

 

It must have been at least a week and a half since her last night of unbothered slumber. And that night must have been the first night among many months.

 

She frowns at the realisation.

 

[Name]'s cup of calming tea is near finished by the time her housemate awakens. As he, quite literally, stumbles out his bedroom door, she can't help but feel envious, for the boy looks like he could conquer the world by how bright his eyes are despite just waking up. [Name] bites back an amused smile as she takes in his appearance: his hair is dishevelled, and there are several creases pressed to his skin made from his sheets, most likely. A pillow imprint decorates the right side of his cheek.

 

Afraid that he would catch her staring, the girl doesn't dare to meet his eyes after giving him a once over. What she doesn't know is yes, he _did_ feel the [h/c -ette]'s gaze on him, and no, of course it didn't make the left corner of his lip twitch up into a boyish smile. Her friend is about to tease her about it before he takes notice of how it is a quarter before six in the morning, and yet, she is still awake.

 

His lips part to chide her about her lack of sleep, but Sugawara Koushi knows better than to rub more salt into the ever-present wound. So, he chooses to say nothing.

 

He doesn't mention the fact that her cheekbones have become more prominent over the following year.

 

( _“[Name], do you want some? No? Well, okay, then.” “[Name], have you eaten yet?” “[Name], please eat.”_ )

 

He doesn't mention the fact that her skin looks like the colour of blank paper and that the bridge of her nose lack the splash of freckles that he had grown so fond of.

 

( _“Open the door, [Name], the sun is out!” “[Name], come to the beach with us. No? Are you sure?” “Sweetheart, your skin stars are disappearing.”_ )

 

He doesn't mention the fact that her hair, seemingly always put up in the odd three-bun hairstyle she’d ‘borrowed’ from a sci-fi movie she loved, has been converted into a plain topknot as if she doesn't care about anything anymore.

 

( _“[Name], you’re such a dork.” “Yes, [Name], you look like you could save the entire galaxy.” “Hey, space heroine, what happened to your buns?”_ )

 

...She probably doesn't.

 

He gives her a wordless smile albeit the fact she isn't looking at him and pads to their kitchen space.

 

[Name] tightens the long cashmere cardigan around herself as a chill runs down her spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand. She walks over to the kitchen where her housemate disappeared to. Probably to make coffee, she muses. [Name] doesn't think he needs the coffee. He seems bright enough already. How can a person be so  _blithe_ in the morning? Especially when it looks like utter dismay outside?

 

When she enters the kitchen space and takes her seat behind the breakfast counter, Suga is still filling the kettle with the bottled water that he keeps in the fridge. [Name] scrunches her nose at this. She prefers tap water when it comes to preparing hot beverages, but Suga always complains that the tap water makes his stomach upset, so ever since then, they have made their drinks separately.

 

( _“You’re such a priss,” [Name] commented with a huff._

 

 _Suga rolled his eyes to which the girl responded with an unladylike face. “Tell that to my stomach, sweetheart, not me.”_ )

 

Once he finishes emptying the contents of the bottle, he switches one of the stoves on and settles the kettle onto the stove top. He smoothly grabs an apple from the fruit basket they keep next to the cooking utensils and slides into a seat opposite from [Name].

 

“Eight,” he declares, taking a bite. He chews for several beats. Plays around with the fruity mush in his mouth as he awaits her answer.

 

She stares at the barely floating tea bag that wades lazily in the water. The tea is growing cold, but it's still bearable to drink. If she were to abandon it, it would have been the third cup she'd wasted in the past eighteen hours, and [Name] absolutely  _loathes_ wasting. She grew up with nothing, and at 19, she has nearly everything, but why?

 

Why does she feel so empty?

 

She consumes the remnants of her tea in a gulp; unlike last time, where she so delicately takes a sip.

 

“None.”

 

It's a thing that the pair do. Every morning, they greet each other with numbers and facts that relate to their mutual understanding of sleep. It isn't surprising to Suga that the girl in front of him sleeps so little. He knows that she's desperate to close her eyes and just  _rest_ , but he also and unfortunately came to realise that it would take a miracle for her to sleep easily and feel unweary soon after. Suga lifts his head in a would-be nod if he didn't look so deep in thought. He does not finish his nod. He swallows down the mush thickly.

 

As if to brighten the mood, she quickly albeit shyly adds, “Well, I had thirty minutes as soon as I finished one episode of _The Joy of Painting_. That man does wonders. So, technically, thirty minutes. Proud of me?”

 

The boy in front of her tries to hide a smile at that comment. “Very.”

 

The kettle sings its sharp melody, begging for attention, and attention is what it received. Suga turns his back to her, continuing the process of making his coffee, and [Name] observes the boy-soon-to-be-man pour his instant coffee into his ‘special mug’ (a custom mug with his name incorrectly spelt out in the front  **―** given to him by one of his younger cousins) before she looks away.

 

[Name] stops playing with the tea string and lowers her head so her forehead touches her forearm, which rests on the marble counter surface. Her eyes flutter to a close, and it stays that way for a minute or two before her eyes decide that they ached too much to stay closed. She opens her eyes again and immediately regrets it. Her eyes sting painfully, and her brain feels like it's been replaced with dozens of cotton balls.

 

“You should text Daichi; tell him to tell your professor that you have the flu. Then you could call the day off just to rest,” Suga suggests without looking at her. He is pouring soy milk in his coffee now. “I would offer to accompany you, but I have homework to catch up on, and I don’t think Tachibana- _sensei_ will be very happy with me being absent for the third time this week,” he says the last part in a sheepish manner as he faces her again, and it almost makes [Name] laugh.

 

“Thanks, Koushi- _kun_ ,” she whispers, a soft smile gracing her sharp features (Suga nearly sighs in relief at the sight, but manages to return the action calmly from behind his mug). “But I’ve already asked Ryugazaki- _sensei_ for extra credit, and I’m covering a co-worker’s shift in the library after my afternoon class later today. I also have to get ready for a test that’s going to happen next week. It’d be a shame to waste a day just to sleep.”

 

“It’s Saturday,” Suga points out, taking a sip of his coffee.

 

An indifferent shrug. “I know.”

 

Suga lets out a small sigh. “Your mental health should be put first on top of everything else, [Name],” he says, setting his mug down slowly. He's starting to sound like a parent warning a petulant child.

 

“I know that, but  **―** ”

 

“But what?” He interjects, trying to contain his annoyance. His annoyance isn't at all directed at the girl, never, but at her situation. “When was the last time you actually had a decent amount of sleep? The last time I saw you without those  **―** those _shadows_ under your eyes was nearly two years ago!” Suga, fortunately, stops pushing when he sees [Name] flinch the tiniest bit. His gaze softens, his heartbeat slows. “...You know how I care a lot about you. I just want you to be happy.”

 

[Name] decides, at this very moment, that the grey-haired boy is just as angry at the universe as she.

 

She looks into her mug, where the tea bag lays limp on the inside, surrounded by the remains of liquid. A feeling of guilt slowly blooms throughout her entire chest. Suga had been like this ever since her restlessness started. There have been times where it nearly overwhelms her, how much he cares, but it never fails to make [Name] feel so wholly loved.

 

An uneasy silence falls upon them.

 

“I  _am_ happy,” is the phrase that breaks the trance.

 

Suga's eyes flick up to gaze at her, and sees that her own gaze is elsewhere; somewhere far, far away. He studies her silently, seeing how she grips the handle of her mug a little too tightly, and how the crease between her eyebrows deepens. A series of mostly unidentified expressions flash across her pale face, making Suga grasp to those which are too familiar to him: Vulnerability. Pridefulness. Strength. Hope. _Uncertainty._ He nods once, swallows a mouthful of his coffee, doesn't mind how it burns the back of his throat as it goes down.

 

“Okay,” Suga says, as if to finalise what she’d said. He sets his mug down. “You’re happy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The emotions Reader-chan is feeling throughout the majority of this one-shot is, admittedly, based off of mine from a couple years ago. Yes, I struggled with sleep-deprivation, and by no means was this one-shot supposed to romanticize it in any way because it really does suck.
> 
> I truly believe that if Suga was to encounter or live with a person who was sleep-deprived/insomniac (in this case, it's Reader-chan), he would be very adamant in making her choose her mental health first over anything else. So, I hope I depicted this type of Suga well. He is still caring, I hope I made that clear.


	6. sweaty palms. [ futakuchi k. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? Two chapters in two days? That's simply unheard of!
> 
> Surprise.
> 
> I started writing this at around two in the morning and finished revising at around half-past six. I look like a freakin' racoon right now, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't have any fun writing this. I didn't want to wait until next week to update this, especially when I already had a finished piece, so here it is!
> 
> Futakuchi's a little piece-o'-poop.
> 
> Much love,  
> Teacup

**_In which a provocative person by nature somehow manages to woo a girl he likes by speaking of his sweat-inducing hands._ **

  
One winter evening, two teenagers walk side-by-side, returning from a team dinner that ended. The girl looks to the skies with a nose tinged red, thanking the heavens that the dinner involved little to no petty arguments over the last piece of meat and to her relief, there had been no arm-wrestling for male dominance, either.

 

[Surname] [Name], manager of the Date Tech boys volleyball club, would very much like for the night to end on a good note, but as she ponders of this (im)possibility, the current team captain sauntering next to her opens his mouth, and she knows that all hope is lost.

 

“My hands are cold.”

 

She closes her eyes briefly to prevent them from rolling too far back behind her head. “That’s nice, Futakuchi,” she says, subtly clenching her hands as she walks.

 

The ground has suddenly become quite beautiful, she realises, and she scrutinises it with delight. She has to admit that it’s normal enough, his conversation starter.  It’s not your everyday icebreaker, but she has to give him an _e_ for _effort_. At least it’s different from the first time they've spoken to each other, where he talked of his imaginary dead lizard for the duration of their one-sided conversation.

 

Their conversation was a little...odd. Thus, their interaction had given her the impression that he was normally _that_ obnoxious. His irksome personality reflected in practice as well, with him always finding the right words and gestures to aggravate her. She was never given the reason as to why he had started acting that way, so she was convinced that it was a part of his character. All she knew was that he was irritating, and he always will be.

 

Their relationship, or lack thereof, has come to the point where she involuntarily wants to fight him.

 

A significant example is the first (and last) time where they stood near each other during a practice match and he had shifted in her peripheral vision (mind you, he merely raised one hand to rub at his eyes). Out of instinct, the girl reached out to smartly whack him across the bicep. She had succeeded but had momentarily forgotten that the team captain had injured his shoulder a few days prior due to over-exertion and was still in the healing process. Needless to say, he had to have a couple more days afterwards to fully recover.

 

~~The team now makes sure to separate the both of them during practice matches.~~

 

“You know what’s strange, [Name]- _chan_?” her nose twitches at the unnecessary honorific (she’s told him numerous times that _just_ [Name] is alright, but who was he to listen?), and he doesn’t seem to notice, “It seems as if all my sweat – every drop of it – transfers to my palms. It doesn’t happen when I am in the middle of the game, fortunately; rather, the clamminess of my hands is triggered when I’m within a close enough proximity to the opposite sex.” He turns his attention on her, a smirk playing on his features as he leans closer to her side. “What do you say, [Name] _-chan_? Would you like to be the first girl to experience my sweaty palms? I’d consider that to be a blessing if I were you.”

 

[Name] pauses in her tracks, raising her gaze to meet his, baffled. He mimics her action, stopping to stand in front of her, all the while daring to look smug as if he had just told her a swoon-worthy pick-up line.

 

 _Your stupidity leaves me at a loss for words_ , is what she would like to say.

 

“Futakuchi, I am honestly speechless,” is what she really said.

 

And clearly, it is the wrong thing to mention, because it has no context behind her words whatsoever, leaving him to freely interpret her proclamation. She wants to pinch herself for her carelessness.

 

His eyes brighten. “Am I too suave for you, [Name] _-chan_? Don’t I just scream chivalry and ladykiller? Tell me, [Name] _-chan_ , have you,” he falters, actually shoots her a wink, “fallen for me?”

 

[Name] blinks at him. Twice. She then pulls her elbow back and throws a punch straight to his gut, causing him to double over, a groan emitting past his lips. The girl recomposes herself, dusts off her coat of stray snowflakes and walks ahead.

 

“W-What the—” he splutters, then straightens, jogging in order to catch up with her. “You're a jerk,” he states, rubbing the bruising portion of his core. “A meanie.”

 

She ignores him. Because of this, he finally falls silent, apparently a little disappointed with the lack of attention being given to him. A few minutes pass before she hears his teeth chatter from the crisp breeze. At the corner of her eye, she sees him rubbing his palms together to manually create heat.

 

“Seriously speaking, though, my hands really are cold now, so could I please hold yours, or something?”

 

[Name] narrows her eyes at his abrupt change of personality before exhaling a white cloud. It's a tough decision. Should she tell him to screw off, or should she help him out? They stop once more in the middle of the sidewalk, and she, albeit hesitantly, offers her hand. Futakuchi looks at her outstretched hand, bewildered, but soon accepts it, their fingers intertwining easily.

 

Though he seemingly prides himself in his perspiring hands, [Name] realises with a start that they are the complete opposite (she’ll have to corner him about this later, because if _that’s_ how he tries to pick up girls, then he’s going to end up alone forever). Their conjoined hands, once cold from the winter weather, soon warms in a matter of a few minutes. Futakuchi’s  infamous sweat that she's dreading never makes its debut.

 

In its place, there’s a pleasant feeling of affection pooling at the centre of her chest at the sight of their linked fingers, and the corner of her lip quirks up into a small smile. She clears her throat when she catches herself and brings her attention back to the ground.

 

“Are you satisfied, Futakuchi?” She inquires.

 

The boy in question scratches at his temple with his unoccupied hand, a sheepish expression on his face. “ _Ano_...I didn’t really expect for you to agree...So this is certainly a lovely surprise.”

 

“Oh.”

 

The pair is ten minutes away from her house, and they still haven’t retracted from each other’s touch. Because of their close proximity, they have already been mistaken to be a genuine couple by quite a few bypassers (this will never come to their knowledge, sadly).

 

[Name] trembles from the cold, involuntarily squeezing her partner’s fingers gently, causing for her said partner to look at her questioningly. When she doesn’t respond to his gaze (she hadn’t even realised she’d gained his attention), Futakuchi brings their joined hands close to his face and commences to blow against them.

 

[Name] watches as he does this, heart skipping a beat as his lips brush over her knuckles transiently, and does not make a move to cease his actions.

 

She finds herself unable to, mesmerised by the snowflakes decorating his eyelashes.

 

The snowfall has picked up its pace, the delicate flakes finding refuge atop both their heads and outer clothing. She despises the fact that the added white fluff perched in the tufts of his hair actually makes him, dare she say it, adorable.

 

Surely _this_ isn’t the same Futakuchi Kenji she has come to reluctantly know over the past few months. It couldn’t be; how could this gentle teenaged boy walking beside her and attempting to keep her hands warm be the same self-appointed ladykiller and walking disaster? He had already volunteered to take her home when no one else could. He didn’t have to, and he certainly doesn't have to keep her warm now. Everything that is happening is a little staggering, to say the least.

 

Upon completing his duty as a ‘proper gentleman’, Futakuchi lowers their hands and stuffs them into his coat pocket for added warmth. The action causes for the girl to stumble closer to him, her face flushed as she knocks against his side, but she blames it on the cold.

 

“Sorry about that; shoulda warned you first,” he murmurs gently, glancing at her. “ _Ne_ , you doing okay?” He cranes his neck to examine her carefully, and she prays that he doesn't notice her blushing cheeks.  He squints. “You look a little red.”

 

Her nose twitches for the second time that night, but it isn’t because of him.

 

~~That’s a lie, it’s partially because of him.~~

 

“‘M fine,” she lies behind her knitted scarf, voice muffled and [e/c] eyes averted. “Just a little cold.”

 

“Still? I’ve tried so many methods to keep you at a comfortable temperature..” he sounds truly disappointed in himself. “Are you not at all feeling warm?”

 

“No, I feel okay. We’re five minutes away from my place, anyways, so I’ll be able to properly warm myself there. Don’t worry.”

 

He nods, as if convinced enough, then turns his eyes back in front of him. [Name] shrieks mentally, but sighs in relief. If he continues with whatever act he’s putting up currently, she knows she’ll end up being fond of him.

 

[Surname] [Name] wants to be a lot of things: happy, financially secure, and an English high school teacher are a couple of examples.

 

One of the _last_ things [Surname] [Name] wants to be is fond of Futakuchi Kenji.

 

~~Too late. It’s way too late.~~

 

A circular motion that pulses rhythmically on the back of her hand is enough to lull her into a brief trance. Futakuchi has been obliviously tracing shapes as he observes his surroundings. When he pauses in doing so, the girl next to him blinks, dragged back to reality.

 

“We’re here,” he announces, a grin spreading across his face. The two stop in front of [Name]’s house, still standing next to each other. He pulls their hands from inside his toasty pocket but he does not let go, and neither does she.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” [Name] says curtly, loosening her grip, but he just tightens it.

 

“Wait,” he says, then scratches at his temple when she looks up at him in bemusement. “ _E-Eto_...I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable ever since you joined the club as our manager. I found you cute, and my first instinct as a hormonal teenaged male was to try and grasp your attention. Apparently, the only situations I have ever been acknowledged by you was when I was being annoying, so I kind of just stuck with it. I promise to stop if it’s really bothering you. _Gomen ne_ , [Name]. I’m sorry.” His hold on her turns lax as soon as he ends his apology.

 

When liberated, the girl stretches her hand, rendered speechless by the barely overnight change of his attitude.

 

“I-I forgive you,” she stammers in a nearly inaudible voice, unable to meet his eye. “I should probably head in now, so, ah...Thank you, Futa – _ano_ , Kenji _-kun_. For safely escorting me to my place.”

 

_And for obscuring my feelings for you. And for trying to keep me warm._

 

She cracks her knuckles distractedly, trying to shoo the fuzzy sensation away.

 

_And for holding my hand._

 

Futakuchi perks up at the sound of his given first name, beaming at her. “Not at all! It’s what a gentleman would do.”

 

[Name] stifles a giggle at that, beginning to slowly walk backwards to her house. “Of course. W-Well, then – have a good night, Kenji,” she says, stepping behind the gate.   


“Would you like to walk with me to and from school tomorrow?” He blurts out. “And perhaps the day after that? And the day after that day?”

 

She thinks about this for a few beats. Would the level-headed manager of the boys volleyball club truly like to walk to and from school with the walking disaster of a team captain?

 

“One question,” she says, and [Name] smiles shyly. “Will the walks include hand-holding?”

 

“But of course,” he remarks with a lopsided grin.


	7. ankle-biter. [ matsukawa i. ]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a rather meddlesome mother doesn’t trust her son to tend to his own siblings, and so gets a babysitter to babysit him babysitting.
> 
> Cast of Characters:  
> Matsukawa Issei...agonizing screaming  
> [Surname] [Name]...professional baby tamer  
> Matsukawa Hiroki...not to be trusted  
> Matsukawa Midori...a bundle of joy
> 
> NOW SHOWING IN CINEMAS NEAR YOU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was so much fun writing in this sort of format. I hope you don't mind it!
> 
> This plays along with my own headcanon that Matsukawa is a film enthusiast and that he plans to go to film school in the near future. I also couldn't find much inspiration to write in traditional story format, so that's another one of my excuses.
> 
> If you guys liked it, then I might consider doing even more in this type of format because it was too enjoyable to let it be a one-time thing.
> 
> I hope you liked the OC babies I created, and I hope it wasn't too...eugh.
> 
> Also, this chapter is dedicated to @darligndarlight for being one of my first commenters (and for making me feel special 'n' stuff because of it).

**SCENE 1**

**EXT. OUTSIDE THE MATSUKAWA HOUSEHOLD - DAWN**

_Ribbons of newborn daylight trickle through the windows of the house, and perched prettily on the ground against the wall is a collection of miniature succulents and houseplants. Hanging pots of bright poppies and delicate daisies in the balcony show that the flowers are turned toward the rising sun._

 

**SCENE 2**

**INT. ISSEI’S ROOM - MOMENTS LATER - DAWN**

_Through a small window, a room with faded movie posters pasted to white walls and camera lenses displayed on a shelf is visible._

 

_We see a figure slowly rise from his bed with his back to us － Matsukawa Issei, a boy of neutral gazes and hidden smiles, wearing a loose white tee-shirt._

 

_He tiredly rubs at his face with one hand while his other arm pushes out in a stretch. His arms drop back down to his side. He stays still for a moment or two, as if trying to ready himself for the day to come, before he finally stands._

 

**SCENE 3**

**INT. MIDORI & HIROKI’S ROOM - MOMENTS LATER - DAWN**

_Issei is seen carefully pushing a door open, lips pursed in an effort to do it in a quiet manner. Despite being a bedroom shared between a toddler and infant, it is quite neat, save for a few items laying about carelessly on the carpeted ground:_

 

_Thick crayons and markers, a small sketchbook opened to reveal a crude drawing of what seems to be a duck, a milk bottle, and a volleyball._

 

_ANGLE ON baby carousel turning steadily, hovering over the cherubic face of Matsukawa Midori._

 

_ANGLE ON the younger, spitting image of Issei, who is sprawled on his bed with his shirt ridden up to reveal a small pot-belly. A line of drool drips down the side of Matsukawa Hiroki’s mouth as he sleeps soundlessly._

 

_Issei smiles._

 

_ANGLE ON Issei’s hand reaching into the crib, tenderly brushing back wisps of hair and tracing the apple of Midori’s round cheek. He fixes the thin blanket that covers the baby, pulling it up to her chin._

 

**SCENE 4**

**INT. LIVING AREA  - LATE MORNING**

_The sun’s rays are even more prominent at this time of day. It streams into the living area, pooling onto the hardwood floors. Tiny specks of dust are made visible due to the sunshine. The sky is clear, and the air is crisp outside._

 

_We later see the aforementioned teenaged boy walk to and fro the hallways of the apartment, speaking animatedly into his phone as he starts some chores. A baby girl, barely the age of two, is balanced, asleep, on his back. This is Midori, the youngest of the Matsukawa family. She is secure in a black baby carrier._

 

**ISSEI**

_(fondly exasperated)_

— Yes, I can cook. No, I will not burn the house down.

_(beat)_

Fine, okay, I _promise_ not to burn the house down.

Wait, no, we don’t need a babysitter. Mom, I am perfectly capable of —

 

_He hastily pulls his phone away from his face, eyebrows furrowed in agitation as his attention is caught by something else. His voice firm, he chides his troublemaking four-year-old brother who is O.S.:_

 

**ISSEI**

Hiroki, don’t you _dare._ You put those scissors down right now,

or so help me, I will take your crayons away!

 

**HIROKI (O.S.)**

_Gomen ne, Sei-nii!_

 

_Issei shakes his head a little, mild annoyance on his features, but it dissolves almost immediately when he resumes talking to his mother:_

 

**ISSEI**

— Mom? Are you still there? As I was saying,

I’m perfectly capable of taking care of Hiroki and Midori for a few days.

 

_O.S., there is a loud clanging noise heard from the kitchen space, and Issei grimaces. He is sure that Hiroki must have toppled the pots and pans over as a result of attempting to get the snacks in the top cupboard._

 

**ISSEI**

_(choosing his words meticulously)_

Uh, no, that wasn’t a crash that you just heard. No. Yes.

Mom, everything is fine. Yes. I understand. _Okaasan_ , for the last time, we don’t need a babysi–

_(beat)_

Wait, what? _I_ need a babysitter? Wait, so you weren’t

talking about a babysitter for the actual kids?

 

_He pauses, lips parting open in surprise as his mother explains on the other end. He scratches at his hair, a little frustrated with the sudden information._

 

**ISSEI**

Mom, I really don’t think I need a babysitter. I’m eighteen.

No, I was sixteen three years ago. I mean two years ago.

I can’t do math, sorry. What? Yes, Mom. Okay.

_(beat)_

So I can just cancel on the babysitter? Okay, got it. Uh-huh.

Yeah. Okay, bye, I love you, _Haha_. Stay safe. Say hi to Dad for me. Bye.

 

_He sighs when the call ends. There is another clang, and Issei closes his eyes briefly to gather himself. He does not want to wake the baby up, and the thought of having to take care of two upset kids younger than the age of ten terrifies him._

 

_He rolls his shoulders back, causing the baby girl to stir before settling once more in the comfort of his shoulder blades, and pads to the kitchen._

 

**ISSEI**

_(lightheartedly threatening)_

Hiroki, if I see a peanut butter cookie in your hands when I get there, I swear...

 

**SCENE 5**

**EXT. NEIGHBOURHOOD SIDEWALK, JUST OUTSIDE MATSUKAWA HOUSEHOLD - AFTERNOON**

_CLOSE ON a pair of feet wearing white slip-on shoes, the previous colour obscured by various smears and splatters of pastel paint. They walk with a little bounce to their step, walking down the sidewalk. They lead us up a few steps and finally stop in front of a white door. They knock._

 

_[Surname] [Name]: a pretty girl whose eyes are warm, around the same age as Issei, if not younger. She wears black leggings and a thin knit lavender sweater with a light grey tank-top underneath. She is timid and a little self-conscious of her being there. She wrings her hands together as she awaits a response._

 

_After several moments of nothing, she knocks once more. She then hears a thud from behind the door followed by rapid footsteps. There is a peal of giggles._

 

**ISSEI (O.S.)**

No, you are definitely not answering the door butt-naked; get back here, brat!

 

_A momentary pause. She hears furniture being shifted around and realises that they, whoever they may be, must be straightening their clutter before opening the door._

 

_The door swings open, revealing Issei behind it with an arm braced against the doorframe as he catches his breath. His eyes are glazed over from the exertion of chasing his younger brother around, and [Name] can tell that he’s distracted, for he does not give her much of a glance._

 

**ISSEI**

_(straightens, tone sheepish)_

Ah, so sorry about that. My brother – he can be quite a nuisance at times.

Now! What can I help you with?

 

 _He raises his eyes to meet the amused gaze of [Name]’s, and all the blood either drains from or to his face. He’s not so sure. All he knows is that there’s a very,_ very _pretty girl in front of him, and he is, by no means whatsoever, well-dressed or prepared for this sort of situation._

 

_They stand there, examining each other for a moment or two. He then slams the door closed, leaving a thoroughly confused [Name] standing out there, staring at the wood with wide eyes._

 

 _He’s wearing a black hoodie and sweats, for goodness’ sake. And there she was, behind the door, clad in an adorable outfit that he’s sure is the reason for his heart palpitations. At least she didn’t catch him shirtless this morning as he cooked breakfast for him and Hiroki. He suppresses a shudder at the thought._ _That would have been disastrous._

 

_He opens the door slowly, only showing his face through a small gap._

 

**ISSEI**

_(stupidly)_

Uh. Hi.

 

_[Name] inclines her head in acknowledgment, giving him a close-mouthed smile._

 

**[NAME]**

Hi to you too. I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Matsukawa- _kun._

I’m [Surname] [Name], and your mom told me to help you watch over your siblings for the next three days. I’ll be in your care.

 

_She bows, and before Issei can properly reply, Hiroki appears from behind his older brother’s legs, forcing the door to open even more. The toddler looks up curiously at the girl, eyes narrowed as he studies her. After giving her a once-over, he glances to Issei, who now stares dumbfoundedly at [Name] bowed before him._

 

_Since the two teenagers aren’t speaking, Hiroki supposes in his little mind, he might as well break the ice._

 

**HIROKI**

_(painfully innocent, to Issei)_

_Nii-chan,_ is this your girlfriend? She’s very pretty.

 

_At the sound of a new voice, the shameless question, and the wholesomely unexpected compliment, [Name] quickly stands upright, face flushed in embarrassment._

 

_Issei nearly chokes on his own spit._

 

_At least Hiroki is clothed now._

 

**SCENE 6**

**INT. LIVING AREA - MINUTES LATER - DAY**

_ANGLE ON slender fingers gently clasping a tall glass of iced lemon tea. [Name]’s nails tap along the frosted surface._

 

_The girl, seated on the far side of the couch with her elbow resting on the armrest, observes her surroundings while taking careful sips of her beverage. Issei had to tend to Hiroki’s desire for more paper for his drawings, and she is now left to silently admire the plants sitting on the balcony._

 

_In the b.g., Issei stumbles in, wiping his hands down the fronts of his pants, leaving behind damp stains on the denim cloth. He has changed into dark jeans, keeping the pull-over hoodie, and has fixed his hair to appear presentable in front of a guest._

 

_[Name] is still looking out the window, fingertips going numb from the cold glass. She doesn’t notice him until he sits in the armchair across from her. He winces when he accidentally sits on a toy truck, and he removes it before placing it on the coffee table. [Name] averts her eyes, attempting to hide an amused expression._

 

**ISSEI**

_(kneads at his thighs clumsily, fidgety)_

So...

 

_She looks as uncomfortable as he feels. He feels the need to apologise, but refrains from doing so, knowing that it will further intensify the awkwardness between them._

 

**[NAME]**

So...

 

_He chews the inside of his cheek. Should he tell her that her service is not needed? It is very much appreciated, of course, but he still believes that he is capable of taking care of his siblings on his own._

 

_The two teenagers sit there, lost in their own thought, on the verge of speaking to one another, but are unable to do so._

 

_Issei leans forward, readying himself to explain the situation and to let her go._

 

**ISSEI**

Look, [Surname]- _san_ —

 

_[Name] sets her emptied glass on the table in front of the toy truck, the faint clink of ice interrupting his words. The evaporation droplets bead down, racing each other to the bottom._

 

_She beams at him, and Issei is taken aback._

 

**[NAME]**

Would it be okay if I saw your baby sister?

 

_Issei blinks._

 

  **[NAME] (CONT’D)**

_(cowers back at the lack of reaction, hastily correcting herself)_

Ah, that is if she’s awake. If she isn’t, then that’s alright —

 

**ISSEI**

No! No, it’s fine; the question was just unexpected, I just —

 

_He falters deliberately, knowing that if he continued, the already painful situation will end up even worse. He blows out a small breath, recollecting himself. He makes his way around the coffee table, stopping at her side. He sticks his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie as the girl looks up at him in confusion._

 

**ISSEI**

Well?

 

_[Name] doesn’t move from the couch._

 

**ISSEI (CONT’D)**

_(smiling gently)_

You wanted to see my sister, yes?

 

**JUMP CUT TO:**

 

**SCENE 7**

**INT. MIDORI & HIROKI’S ROOM - MOMENTS LATER - DAY**

_The room is neater since the last time we’ve seen it. The floor is rid of the items scattered about and now Hiroki occupies the ground with various pieces of paper sprawled around him. He is laying on his stomach, engrossed in his colouring._

 

_Midori is nearby, sat in a baby jumper and fascinated with a toy in her hands as she bobs up and down in the doorway of their closet room._

 

**SCENE 8**

**INT. HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER - DAY**

**ISSEI (O.S.)**

_(guiltily)_

I apologise in advance if the room is messy. I told Hiroki earlier to clean up a bit

since we have a guest, but he isn’t one to listen very well...So, just be careful with where you step.

 

_Once he finishes speaking, the pair is already at the door of the bedroom. [Name] examines their surroundings, a faint smile on her face as she does so. She looks to Issei, who is pleasantly surprised at his brother’s quick obedience to his instructions._

 

**[NAME]**

Looks like your baby brother listens to you more than you give him credit for.

 

**ISSEI**

Apparently so.

 

_He gestures for her to go first, and with a playful roll of her eyes, she does._

 

_Issei is seen exhaling with his cheeks puffing out and wiping his hands against his sides before entering after her._

 

_Hiroki, suddenly aware of [Name]’s presence, scrambles up to his knees, moving toward her with a drawing in one hand. [Name] lowers herself down in a squat as to get in eye-level with him, hugging her knees to her chest._

 

**HIROKI**

[Name] _-neesan_ , I drew Dori- _tan!_   _Ne_ , _ne_ , d’you like it?

 

_Issei hears the honorific that his brother had called the girl as he passes by, going O.S. to reach Midori who is behind Hiroki. He raises an eyebrow._

 

**ISSEI (O.S.)**

“[Name] _nee-san?_ ”

_(scoffs, not unkindly, almost teasingly)_

First thing he does when he sees you is to call you pretty, and now

he’s calling you by your first name...who knew my little brother was a ladies’ man.

He seems to have warmed up to you pretty quickly, [Surname]- _san_.

 

_[Name] makes a face at Issei, refraining from childishly sticking a tongue out at him. He chuckles._

 

_Hiroki presents his masterpiece with pride. She takes her time staring at it with practiced scrutiny, clasping her chin with her thumb and forefinger. She gets off-track with the movement behind Hiroki:_

 

_In the b.g., Issei sings to Midori while releasing her from the baby device. He swoops her up into his arms The older brother blows a raspberry on her cheek, to which Midori reacts with bright, bell-like laughter._

 

**HIROKI**

_Nee-san?_

 

_[Name] is dragged back into reality and patiently smiles at the toddler, who had taken her forearm to get her attention._

 

**[NAME]**

_(in a softer voice used for children)_

Yes, of course!

 

_She motions a finger to a particular detail in the picture, bringing Hiroki’s attention to it._

 

_EXTREME CLOSE UP of the drawing, messily sketched but endearingly so. Hiroki has drawn little ‘Midori’ as a medium-sized blob with a ribbon to the side of what looked like her head._

 

**[NAME]**

What’s this?

 

_Hiroki peeks over the edge of the paper to see what she’s pointing at. He lights up._

 

**HIROKI**

Oh! That’s her hairclip. She has millions! Sei- _nii_ sometimes wears them when it gets too hot.

It makes his hair look really funny.

 

**ISSEI (O.S.)**

_(defiant)_

Hey!

 

**[NAME]**

_(laughs)_

I see. Well, it’s very beautiful, Hiro- _kun_. Can I call you that?

 

_In the b.g., Issei lifts his head at the sound of his friend’s old nickname. His lips part, almost upon instinct, but when he notices that the summon was directed at Hiroki, he stays silent._

 

_Meanwhile, Hiroki, at first, nods vehemently at her suggestion. However, they slow down when he realises something. He then shakes his head instead, bottom lip jut out in a small pout._

 

**HIROKI**

But Hiro- _nii_ is already Hiro- _kun_ to many people.

 

**[NAME]**

Hiro- _nii_?

 

_Issei steps forward with Midori placed on his hip._

 

**ISSEI**

_Ano..._ One of my best friends given name is Takahiro, so when we were younger,

a lot of people would call him Hiro. Not so much as of late, though, Hiroki’s just

blowing that out of proportion. Now everyone refers to him as Makki.

 

_[Name], startled, glances up at the older boy. She nods understandingly when he finishes his small explanation._

 

**[NAME]**

Ah, _gomen ne_. I suppose it still would have gotten messy

if I started calling him Hiro- _kun_ in front of another Hiro, then.

 

_She rests her chin on top of her knees, tilting her head as she looks at the toddler boy._

 

      **[NAME] (CONT’D)**

Then should I just call you Hiroki- _kun?_

 

_Hiroki looks genuinely upset. He moves to her, little hands grasping at her bicep as he tugs at her sleeve._

 

_Issei watches the exchange with vague entertainment, bouncing the baby girl in his arms. He has to admit, with how well she’s doing with the rascal he has of a younger brother, it would be a little hard to let her go._

 

**HIROKI**

But! But I want [Name]- _neesan_ to call me something else! ‘Hiroki’ is boring!

 

**[NAME]**

_(hiding a smile)_

Hey, don’t say that! Hiroki is a wonderful name. Besides, you just said that —

 

**HIROKI**

_(almost in a scolding manner)_

_Nee-san!_

 

_[Name] allows for a laugh to slip past her lips, finally giving in._

 

**[NAME]**

Okay, okay. Hmm...what about Roki- _kun?_

 

**HIROKI**

Roki...?

 

**[NAME]**

_(slowly)_

Hi-ro-ki. Not Hi-ro, but Ro-ki. Instead of the first part of your name, it’s the last part.

 

**ISSEI**

_(thoughtfully)_

Roki. Roki? It sounds like the English word, _lucky_ , too. Do you remember, Hiroki?

 

**HIROKI**

Sei- _nii_ says him and his friends use it in volleyball! Lu-cky...Ro-ki...

 

_Hiroki ponders about this nickname for a few moments before deciding that he adores it. He turns to Issei with his fingers still clutching onto [Name]’s sleeve, announcing brightly:_

 

**HIROKI (CONT’D)**

Sei- _nii_ , please call me Roki from now on!

_(to [Name])_

You too, _Nee-san_.

 

_[Name] nods with as much enthusiasm the younger boy radiates, obliging to his bidding._

 

_Issei shakes his head good-heartedly before approaching them, Midori gurgling as she tugs on his sideburns. He absentmindedly takes her tiny fist in his hand, slowly releasing her grip from his hair._

 

**ISSEI**

Hey, [Surname]- _san_ , isn’t Midori the reason why you came here in the first place?

 

_[Name] looks at Issei, then at the baby girl in his arms._

 

**[NAME]**

Yes, but another cute tyke wanted me to admire his drawing, so I couldn’t exactly resist.

 

_She affectionately ruffles Hiroki’s dark hair before rising to her feet. Satisfied with the attention he had been given, the toddler goes back to his drawings._

 

**[NAME]**

_(speaking to the baby in a delicate, airy tone)_

Hi!

 

_[Name] continues her attempts to induce a reaction from Midori. Issei moves himself to the side so that Midori is facing the other girl, using one hand to manually wave her hand towards [Name]._

 

**ISSEI**

_(in a tone similar to [Name]’s)_

Say hi, Dori. Hi!

 

_The infant stares at [Name], a tad blankly at first. [Name] is starting to recoil with a look of tepid disappointment from the negative attitude coming from Midori, but then, Midori coos excitedly, reaching for her._

 

_[Name]’s eyes widen at the sudden change of demeanour but smiles nonetheless. She looks to Issei, as if asking for permission. He nods his head and hands Midori to [Name]’s arms._

 

_[Name] grunts with effort as she takes the baby, but in the end, she carries her well. Well enough for [Name] to walk around the room, talking to Midori quietly with the same breathy tone._

 

**JUMP CUT TO:**

 

**SCENE 9**

**INT. ENTRANCE OF MATSUKAWA HOUSEHOLD - HOURS LATER - DUSK**

_The sound of muffled conversation followed by giggling greets us. Issei and [Name] are sharing a few babysitting stories that ended disastrously, and [Name] is wiping away a few happy tears from her eyes using the heels of her palm._

 

_This is a big, noticeable development in their acquaintanceship: from awkward side-glances to honest laughter and big smiles._

 

**[NAME]**

_(out of breath, covering her face with a hand)_

That’s ridiculous.

 

**ISSEI**

It really is. The moral of the story, pretty much, is to never allow four boys to babysit six kids.

Especially when said four boys are in their first year of high school and have _no_ idea how to handle children.

 

_They reach their destination, which is the front entrance of the house._

 

**[NAME]**

Thank you so much for having me. It was great meeting you and the kids.

 

 _The grin that Issei wore beforehand slowly slips off when he realises that he hasn’t told her that he didn’t exactly_ need  _her help. Looking at her now, with those [e/c] eyes of hers twinkling in mirth, he can't really bring himself to refuse her help. The words get stuck in his throat._

 

_He can’t tell her._

 

_[Name], noticing this, offers him a faint smile of reassurance with a hint of secrecy. After slipping her shoes back on and adjusting the hem of her sweater, she holds their gaze._

 

**[NAME]**

I live just next door, so don’t hesitate to come over if you need anything.

Also, bring Hiroki and Midori to visit us anytime during the week. My parents would love to have you three over.

 

_She bows, and so does he. She straightens._

 

**[NAME] (CONT’D)**

_Ja_ , I’m off.

 

_Issei stands at the doorframe as she steps out, staring at her retreating figure and the dainty sway of her hair._

 

**SCENE 10**

**INT. ISSEI’S ROOM - EVENING**

_A string of fairy lights hangs around a full-length mirror. It’s quiet, except for the distant chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves caused by the breeze outside. In its reflection, we focus on the teenaged boy laying on the bed with a camera up to his face, lens fixated to the ceiling._

 

_CLOSE ON the camera being removed from Issei’s face, revealing his left eye, unblinking and intent._

 

_Suddenly, we hear the ring of a phone O.S., and Issei’s concentration breaks. He moves to answer. We see him sit up, hair unkempt from running his fingers through it constantly. He is slouching, looking a little defeated._

 

**ISSEI**

_Moshi moshi?_

_(beat)_

Ah, hi, Mom! Yeah, everything was good today. Roki ate so many vegetables during lunch, it’s insane.

Yeah. Yeah, I used up most of the greens. Prob’ly around a third of the batch that you bought before you left?

Mhmm. Dori’s been eating well too. Yeah. She consumed around three, maybe four bottles today. Yeah.

 

_He waits, allowing for his mom to speak freely and to rant a little bit over her purchases she made that day. He laughs quietly at this._

 

**ISSEI (CONT’D)**

I miss you too. The kids’ve been missing you guys a lot, and it’s only been a day since you’ve left.

How are you and dad? That’s great. Say hi to _Ojiisan_ for us.

_(beat)_

Ah, _gomen_. They’re asleep now, but I’ll send you a photo later. Yeah.

Okay. And I love you. Alright, goodnight. Sleep well.

 

_The boy lets his hand fall to the side, just about to end the call, when he hears his mother squawk at the other end. Alarmed, and snickering a little, he answers brings the phone up to his ear once more._

 

**ISSEI**

_(teasingly)_

_Okaasan_ , I know you have motherly instincts, and all, but do you really miss me, your firstborn offspring, that much?

 

_He’s sure he can hear his mom roll her eyes at him. He chews on the inside of his lip to prevent himself from laughing, and to prevent potential scolding. His expression changes, however, from affectionate to bewildered. His jaw slackens._

 

**ISSEI**

_(disbelievingly)_

Eh!? What do you mean you told [Surname]- _chan_ yourself that we didn’t need a babysitter anymore?

No, that’s not what I meant, I _know_ that I said that I didn’t want nor did I need one, but —

 

_He interrupts himself, eyes fluttering to a close briefly. He tries again, this time, a little more composed and calm._

 

**ISSEI (CONT’D)**

Mom, when did you tell her? Right after you hung up this morning? She came this afternoon.

No, she didn’t tell me anything at all. Why are you smiling? I know that tone in your voice.

Mom. No. Mom, you better not be planning our wedding.

_(beat, he reddens)_

Mom, I am _eighteen!_ I am way too young — Yeah, way too young to get _married_ , not to look after my own _siblings!_

We just met today! I mean, she did invite us over to her house some time later in the week, but — Oh my gosh.

No. Nope! I am not listening to you right now, Mother. I’m going to bed. Goodnight. Mom. _Mom_ , good _night_.

 

_As he says his farewells, he falls back down to the bed, phone limp in his hand. He turns to the side, biting his thumbnail. He groans, shoving a pillow into his face._

 

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ABBREVIATIONS + SCREENWRITING JARGON  
> O.S. - abbreviation for off-screen, denoting that the speaker is not resident within the scene.  
> b.g. - abbreviation for background  
> CUT TO: - a transition which indicates a complete change of location.  
> ANGLE ON - a shot that tells the reader the focal point within a scene has changed.  
> CLOSE ON - an extremely close shot of a subject.
> 
>  
> 
> Midori is a female name that means 'green'.  
> Hiroki is a male name that means 'big, great' and 'brightness' or 'tree'.
> 
> (Hiroki grows up to be a volleyball player, much like his older brother, and is dubbed the official setter of Seijoh. Other than being an athlete, he is also talented in the creative writing department. Midori grows up to be a visual arts student, specializing in photography.)


	8. death by ramen. [ semi e. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy May, friends!
> 
> I'm almost to 2K hits, you guys are incredible, thank you so much. I had a bit of a writer's block, so I'm sorry for the lack of updates. Please feel free to drop requests. It will most likely speed up the writing process when I get ideas.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Much love,  
> Teacup

**_Of ramen, milk, ice cream, and childish jealousy._ **

 

“[Name], this entire visit just confirms how utterly hopeless you are when it comes to making decisions,” the boy mutters under his breath, his eyes briefly closing as he sighs in exasperation.

 

The two have been standing in the seventh aisle selling ramen for what seemed like hours and Semi is rather close to throwing his partner over his shoulder and walking straight out of the grocery store (whether it be with or without food, he doesn’t exactly care anymore, he just wants this to be over and done with).

 

“I am not indecisive if that’s what you’re trying to say!” She huffs, arms crossing indignantly. “I’m just taking my time to weigh out the pros and cons of buying six bundles of instant ramen. Have a little faith in me, you jerk. You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

 

“Yeah, your best friend, not your freakin’ guardian,” he pokes a forefinger to the space between her eyebrows, ignoring her whines of protest when he pushes her head back. “And no one in their right mind would buy six bundles of ramen. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

 

She ducks away from him, turning her attention to the other products on the shelves. “Death by ramen doesn’t sound too bad if you think about it...”

 

“No.”

 

She ignores him. [Name] then tosses two Exclusive 24-Packet Ramen bundles into the shopping cart before moving up the aisle, and Semi automatically returns it to its location, yawning as he does so.

 

“You can’t say no to death, Eita,” she lifts a cup of noodles, turning it over in her hands as she reads the ingredients in kanji. “It’s inevitable, and better you accept it than try to dodge it—you said so yourself.”

 

His eye twitches. “[Name]–”

 

“ _Ne_ , come to think of it, didn’t you say that during our final exams? You got a thirteen in one of them, isn’t that right? I mean, I guess it makes sense; you’ve always been horrible at math,” she reminisces innocently, placing the noodles back to where it had come from.

 

Semi presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, throwing his head back as he makes a noise of distress, startling nearby customers. “[Name], you’re missing the point!”

 

The girl making him want to gouge his eyes out stares at him indifferently for a few beats. When he drags his palms down to fully cover his face, he peeks between the gaps of his fingers just in time to see the corner of [Name]’s lip twitch up into a smile.

 

“ _Urusse_ ,” he mumbles.

 

She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, dismissing him, and skips down the aisle. Semi trails after her, a little defeated, but he quickly recovers after watching her frolic to and fro.

 

“What else do we need, hubby?”

 

Semi rolls his eyes at the mocking nickname (he doesn’t deny it, though, because he supposes their relationship is somewhat similar to an old married couple, anyways). He slips his phone out of his pocket and checks his notes application, going over the list of items they are required to purchase in order for the female and her family to survive the week ahead.

 

“Shampoo, a small can of oats, and three cartons of milk,” he says, pausing to stream further down. “Also, the Waterfall of Bloody Hell is due in a few days, so you might wanna get pads. I got you two tubs of ice cream already, and I’m pretty sure they’re in your freezer.”

 

“How reliable of you, Eita,” she quips, “you’re so good to me.”

 

He grunts in response, a faint blush tinging his cheeks red.

 

The moment they step foot into the dairy section of the grocery store, [Name] is already scrutinizing the different varieties of ice cream in the chilled compartments. Semi lingers by, one hand snug in the front pocket of his hoodie as he leans against the shopping cart’s handle, scrolling aimlessly through his phone’s photo gallery of screenshotted memes. [Name] surfaces from the freezer, bits of ice flakes now speckling the front of her pink floral tank top. She waves a vanilla cone in his face and he cranes his neck, all the while staring at his phone, to avoid being hit.

 

“Could you buy this for me?”

 

He reacts with a scowl but does not turn his gaze to her, preoccupied with his phone. “[Name], I literally just told you that I bought you two tubs, and here you are, nearly stabbing me in the eye with the end of a co– oh my gosh, hold it properly, will you?!” He grabs hold of her wrist, ceasing her actions before readjusting her grip of the frozen dessert.

 

She giggles, her bell-like laughter ringing in the otherwise dreary atmosphere of the supermarket. Semi’s dirty look softens at the sound and is soon replaced with an absentmindedly endeared expression. He doesn’t realise he’s been staring at the younger girl until she gently pulls away from him, unperturbed by his open ogling.

 

He blinks. His cheeks flare a vibrant red and he pulls his hood over his head, obscuring her view of his blushing face.

 

“I take your angsty demeanour as a ‘no’, then,” she says with a snort, plucking the device from the former setter’s hands. She tosses the cone back into its compartment, sliding the glass lid closed. “You’re crankier than usual, Eita. One might even say _you’re_ the one who’s bleeding.”

 

“Nah. You just piss me off.”

 

“Rude.”

 

She walks over to the chilled shelves stocked with milk cartons while skimming through the list. Now with three cartons cradled in her arms, she waddles over to where Semi sulks and delicately lines them inside.

 

The boy threads his fingers through his hair, smoothing out the ash-grey locks in an attempt to fix his disheveled appearance. “Are we done here?”

 

“Yup!” She beams up at him and he affectionately tugs on a strand of her hair as they start walking. “Now to get the oats...hmm, did my mom want instant or traditional... _Ne_ , Eita–”

 

“Get traditional,” he says without skipping a beat, rolling the cart next to her. He pauses to listen to her hum of response turn into a nonsensical tune, a gentle smile gracing his features, then adds, “it’s a lot healthier.”

 

\---

 

Fifteen minutes later, the two receive a text from [Name]’s mother containing another list of groceries they are tasked to purchase. Semi wants to throw himself in one of the fish tanks near the meat section at the news, and [Name] fortunately prevents him from doing so...before rationalizing that he shouldn’t do it without video evidence (Semi, in the end, is the one to drag _her_ away from the fish tanks).

 

They now stand back to where they started, in the ramen aisle, the shopping cart filled to the brim with fresh produce, food, snacks, and toiletries. As [Name] contemplates the purchase of her ramen once more, Semi contemplates life in the background.

 

Her lips part to question Semi about whether to buy the twelve-pack or the six-pack bundle, but she is interrupted by the sound of giddy chortles down the aisle. She turns her head to acknowledge the noise and is greeted with the sight of a small group of girls her age. To her relief, they do not pay much detail to her. To her amusement, their undivided attention is to the boy idly standing next to her.

 

 _He’s ridiculously attractive. Do you think his hair is natural? Do you think the girl near him is his sister or his girlfriend? He’s so cute. Go talk to him. No,_ you _go talk to him!_

 

It makes sense, [Name] supposes, for the male volleyball player is undeniably handsome in the all-black attire he’s sporting. The lone piercing that’s located at the upper section of his left earlobe glints in the supermarket’s lighting, further supporting what the girls are likely discussing in their circle: that this boy standing in the ramen aisle is a typical _bad boy_.

 

[Name] chews on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing at that ridiculous assumption. Semi Eita is anything but. A thought crosses her mind as her eyes follow the defined line of his jaw, and she can’t help it. She smiles smugly.

 

What a perfect opportunity to ~~be petty~~ and show them that he's ~~taken~~ reserved.

 

And who is she to leave their audience unentertained?

 

Masking her features with an air of indifference, she stands before him. His eyes are glazed over as he stares off into nothing and she finds herself shaking her head in fond exasperation before she presses her fingertip to the tip of his nose, pushing upwards to make him look like a little pig. He pulls his face away, grimacing in annoyance at the disruption called [Name] in front of him.

 

“What.”

 

She doesn’t say anything and instead, plops herself face-first into his chest. He makes a small noise of surprise at the sudden weight against his front, his balance wavering for a split second before he rights himself. He chuckles after a moment or two, the sound resonating throughout his chest.

 

[Name] is startled when her heart warms.

 

“You’re so needy,” he remarks, childish mirth colouring his tone of voice. “Did you get stuck with what flavour you wanted? Do you need help? I honestly think eating ramen is unhealthy...I heard somewhere that instant ramen is made of cement. That’s horrible for your digestive system.”

 

[Name] laughs at his constant fretting. She then feels something laying on her head, and after a time of pondering as to what it is, she finalizes with the theory that it is his palm. Her hypothesis, however, is debunked when she feels the familiar movement of Semi carding his fingers through her hair—using both of his hands.

 

To satisfy her curiosity, she shifts her head to look up, only to be met with the brown-grey eyes of her best friend.

 

He had been resting his cheek on top of her head in place of his hand.

 

 _They’re cute together,_ ne _?_

 

[Name]’s eye twitches.

 

Semi lets one hand cup her cheeks and squishes them together to mimic a fish. When she attempts to force herself away from his tight grasp, he only makes a similar face down at her, keeping a steady yet gentle hold on her.

 

“Oi, smile more. You’ll get frown lines.”

 

“Themi, I mill mot hethitate to boite yew might mow.”

 

 _She’s definitely his girlfriend. Eh?! Aw, that’s too bad! I’m not that mad, really_ – _just look at them! They look adorable together._

 

He laughs, releasing her. She rolls her eyes, having had enough of the ‘game’ that she probably shouldn’t have started in the first place (because now, her heart’s palpitating, what the _frick frack paddy whack does her organ think it’s doing_ ), and turns her back to him, recommencing in deciding what ramen to buy.

 

The girls have left, not disappointed at all.

 

Behind her, Semi sighs, but there is a half-smile on his face. He reaches over and drapes his arms on either side of the girl’s shoulders, forefinger pointing at what looked like the healthiest ramen in the aisle. His chin lays atop the center of her head, and though she expresses an irked attitude to his apparently obnoxious gesture, she’s trying her hardest not to smile.

 

“We’re never going to get out of this building, are we?” Semi asks five minutes later, not having moved from their position. He sounds so wistful that [Name] lets out a cackle.

 

“I don’t think so,” [Name] admits. She leans back against him, causing the boy to reposition his head to her shoulder while [Name] tucks her head into the crook of his neck.

 

“Tell you what,” he says, “if we leave right now, I’ll treat you to that ice cream parlour everyone’s freaking out over.”

 

“The really hipster one with the freak shakes and bouquet cones?”

 

“Yeah. That.”

 

She pauses to think it over then shakes her head when she makes up her mind. “It’s alright. I have a better idea.”

 

\---

 

( They end up hauling home six bags of groceries and, to Semi’s distaste, purchasing a bundle of Exclusive 24-Packet Ramen.

 

“When you turn into a cement statue,” _Semi says bitterly as he carries four bags because_ freakin’ heck, [Name], don’t you know that two trips back and forth just isn’t worth it? “I will gladly use you as target practice for my serves.”

 

“And I will accept it. I will accept any form of death.”

 

“[Name]—” _A tired sigh_. “[Name], you’re so stupid, that’s not what I meant.” )


	9. sleep deprivation at its finest. [ hanamaki t. ]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two sleep deprived producers awkwardly cuddle with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S SOME CONTEXT (that are 100% headcanon), IF IT HELPS:
> 
> This is an Idol AU where the boys of Seijoh's group name is ROYALTEAL because of the fact that they are represented as king and knights as well as the fact that canonly, their volleyball uniform is a lighter shade of teal (I know that it's actually turquoise, but I wanted their name to be a play-on-word of royalty, if you didn't notice). Their record label is named Aoba Johsai Ent.
> 
> ROYALTEAL is known for being highly involved in producing their own music and choreography. Which brings me to my next point that Hanamaki is not only an idol but also a great musician and producer.
> 
> Going onto the actual story context...
> 
> A few years prior to this story's time period, Reader had been hired to be a music production intern by Aoba Johsai Ent. and was coincidentally assigned to Hanamaki during ROYALTEAL's six-month break in 2017. She had been in the background, assisting in composing for several of ROYALTEAL's future songs. Hanamaki and her become good friends in the time that they work together, first under Hanamaki's mindset of bonding with whoever he works with and naturally later on.
> 
> Currently, in 2020, Reader is a 22-year-old renowned producer in the music industry and is one of the producers/composers for Seijoh's blueyouth, a girl group. Hanamaki is 24 at this time.
> 
> Hanamaki and Reader are working on ROYALTEAL's fourth studio album, preparing for their next comeback after eight months of the group's previous promotions. They usually spend most of their time in Hanamaki's studio and have actually created a makeshift shelter within the space because of how much time they spend there.
> 
> Their friendship has been and is based on friendly bantering, full trust in each other, silent understanding, and lame nicknames. Speaking of which, ichigo in Japanese means strawberry, referring to Hanamaki's hair colour.

“[Name], which background riff do you think fits better for the bridge? I personally think the second one since it harmonises for a few bars before separating into its own melody some beats later. But then again, the first one fits the theme of the song...Oh! How about I just mix those two characteristics together and see how that works out...”

 

The producer’s train of thought falters when he notices that his colleague and close friend is not responding, slowly turning on his swivel chair in search for her. He finds her curled on the couch, [h/c] hair unkempt with loose strands framing her face messily but endearingly so.

 

Hanamaki blows out a breath, cheeks puffing out as he studies her sleeping form under the studio’s dim lighting. It’s nearly midnight, and they have been in the studio working on three songs non-stop for nearly fourteen hours. To add on to the already obvious exhaustion both musicians are facing, they have become used to this unhealthy habit for it is their daily schedule for three weeks, now.

 

The dark circles under both their eyes are prominent, showcasing their lack of proper sleep, and there have been a number of situations where they would end up camping out in the studio rather than returning to their respective dorms; most of which were accidental due to passing out on the couch or the swivel chair in the midst of working on yet another song. Hanamaki stares at [Name], contemplating something in his head.

 

He then wheels towards her, making sure that he does so quietly. When he reaches the young girl, he leans over her carefully, and with practised gentleness, traces her cheekbone using his forefinger knuckle. [Name] stirs, inhaling steadily, but does not wake. His breath hitches at her sudden movement, though he eventually calms when she makes no sign of consciousness.

 

He slips his dark pink hoodie off, draping it over the girl’s figure. He’s pleasantly surprised to see that it nearly engulfs her entire body.

 

“I wish I could be as peaceful as you are right now,” he whispers, wistful, as he absentmindedly tucks a [h/c] lock behind her ear.

 

“Mmh,” [Name] mumbles, burrowing herself deeper into the hoodie.

 

Hanamaki chuckles at this. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you alone. Sleep tight, kid.”

 

He backs away, still seated in his swivel chair, gaze cast over his shoulder with the determination to finish the third draft of the piece he’s working on.

 

 _I wonder if I can somehow incorporate my shrieks of pain in this piece_ , is a thought that abruptly flashes in his mind. He ponders for a few seconds or so as he stares at the computer keyboard before he silently cackles, doubling over, too tired to really think straight at this point.

 

“Sleep? I don’t know them.” He sighs, a near crazed grin on his face as he shakes his head at himself.

 

However, the second Hanamaki is about to place his headphones back on is when [Name] chooses to make noise.

 

“Takahiro," she croaks out, almost in a whine.

 

The man startles, more from the sound of his given name than the noise, and turns his head sharply to see [Name] comfortably asleep once more. Deciding that it was probably just a figment of his imagination (he’s sure he’s delirious from sleep deprivation), he turns back to his soundboard.

 

“Hiro.”

 

This time, Hanamaki really does pay attention, because if [Name] is calling him a name that isn’t her usual teasing _ichigo-kun_ , then something must be wrong. He glances at his computer screen, eyes finding the time reading _11:56PM_. Defeated, he hangs his head before saving the necessary files and leaving his computer on sleep. He removes his headset, setting it next to the synthesiser, and turns the light to its lowest setting before he pads towards the girl.

 

“What do you want,” he demands softly, but he knows she doesn’t hear him.

 

She clutches the clothing close to her chest now, breathing in the scent of him. Hanamaki flushes at the realisation that oh, frick, _she’s adorable like this._

 

“I’m honestly never sure whether to be pissed off at you or not in a lot of situations,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair in mild frustration. He pulls at his hair, former glare softening as he examines her features. "This situation is one of them."

 

“Oi, your thoughts are too loud.” [Name] grumbles, blearily blinking one eye open up at him.

 

Though he’s surprised at her ability to form coherent sentences as soon as she wakes, he remains neutral. “Those weren’t my thoughts, you idiot, I audibly said them.”

 

“It’s a figure of speech, you idiot, I thought you would know since you’re a lyricist.”

 

Hanamaki’s ears turn red at the realisation. “Shut up.”

 

[Name] brings herself to sit, albeit with a bit of difficulty. “There you are again, picking a fight with me. Who knew you’d even do this the second I wake up?”

 

“You were the one who informally addressed me first.”

 

“ _Ichigo-kun_ ,” she says.

 

 _There it is_ , Hanamaki muses, but the way she says it is tired and not the very bit threatening. He braces himself for the chastising he’s expecting, and he already has options for comebacks ready to slip past his lips, but she does not say anything. Only reaches for him in order to tug him closer using his belt loops. He stumbles, her face crashing into his lower chest. His face warms.

 

“H-Hey,” he starts to say, but she interrupts him.

 

“Hanamaki, I’m tired, and I don’t want to fight you yet.” Her voice is muffled from the cloth of his shirt, and she moves her head to the side, ear pressed against his sternum. Her eyes are closed and she seems to be falling asleep easily. “I know you still want to work but I also know that you’re tired too, so can you please just do me a favour by taking care of yourself more? It wouldn’t hurt to get at least thirty minutes of sleep, would it?”

 

Hanamaki is quiet for a long time, and he can tell that if was to stay quiet for much longer, he would have to deal with a sleeping girl clinging onto him as though he was her lifeline. He pushes her back gently. [Name]’s head lolls to the side momentarily but she straightens her composure, eyes struggling to stay open.

 

“Okay. I’ll sleep. Hand me that pillow over there, and I’ll sleep on the ground.”

 

[Name] apparently has the energy to look confused. “Can’t you just sleep with me? The couch is far more comfortable than the floor, and it’s pretty big.”

 

Hanamaki tries his damnedest not to choke on his own spit and instead exaggerates a sarcastic gasp, hand on his chest as if offended. “At least take me out to dinner, first.”

 

“It’ll be much more efficient,” she says, ignoring him, and with the confidence he’s sure is influenced from none other than Yahaba. "And besides, I don’t mind at all.”

 

Hanamaki pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, fine, but just so you can finally shut up.”

 

She beams up at him. [Name] pushes herself up to stand, and Hanamaki has to keep her from groggily tripping over by holding her by her forearms.

 

“Sit down before I make you do it.”

 

“Funny that you say that, considering the fact that you’re the one stumbling around like a drunkard...”

 

“Takahiro, I could strangle you.”

 

Hanamaki snorts. “You aren’t tall enough.”

 

“You’ve sunk low enough for me to reach.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Hanamaki acquiesces, plopping himself down on the couch. He lays on his side, legs stretching to the length of the couch, and looks up at [Name] who stands there. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.”

 

“I’m not, it’s just...I don’t think we’ll fit. I probably should have thought this through.”

 

“Finally awake now, are you? And after all your big talk too,” he chuckles, and she sticks her tongue out at him. “We can figure it out. C’mere.” He adjusts himself so that he’s pressed up more to the back of the couch and decisively spreads his arms (it’s too late to back out anyway, and all he really wants for the both of them to do is to get much needed rest).

 

[Name] stares at his opened arms. With obvious hesitance, she timidly crawls next to him, back facing him. In order not to numb his arm later on, she moves farther down so the back of her head meets his chest. Hanamaki tucks the arm that is unoccupied under his own head and keeps the other at his side, unsure of where to place it. He settles his hoodie that had been momentarily forgotten over [Name]'s shoulders once more.

 

“‘Night,” she says, voice quiet.

 

“‘Night.”

 

Five minutes pass.

 

It is so awkward that it pains him.

 

Hanamaki’s eyes are still wide open and he’s sure that his eyebrow is twitching. Using the hand that is to his side, he gently touches [Name]’s shoulder. She does not jump, but her head shifts. [Name] is suddenly more awake than she had been a few seconds before.

 

“This okay?” he asks.

 

She hums her approval.

 

“Could you face me so I can wrap my arms around you?”

 

She pauses, then nods, obliging to his request. She faces his chest, now, and Hanamaki glances down only to catch a glimpse of [Name] looking up at him through her eyelashes. His heart stutters. He removes his arm from under his head to cradle hers with it, the other circling her shoulders. His hand is placed on her upper back. Hanamaki props his chin on the top of her head for good measure.

 

“You can hug me too if you’d like; I don’t mind.”

 

[Name] takes a moment to gather herself before doing so, shaky hands sliding along his waist to meet at his back. she voluntarily presses herself against him, and Hanamaki lets out a wavering breath.

 

“We’re going to get in so much trouble if they find us here in the morning,” she whispers into his shirt.

 

Hanamaki grimaces at the thought of one of the staff walking in on them. “I’d probably get the scolding of my life," Hanamaki agrees, face twisting even more when he hears [Name]’s rebuttal of _I, on the other hand, would get fired!_ “Good thing everyone knows better than to enter our studio without knocking or telling us beforehand, though.”

 

[Name] laughs, tense shoulders easing up. Hanamaki visibly relaxes at this.

 

“This is our first time fully cuddling,” [Name] observes after a few minutes of settling silence. “All we ever really did was lean against each other. Maybe a shoulder lean here and there. All of them done in private.”

 

“Do friends often fully cuddle?” It’s a legitimate question.

 

“I wouldn’t know. Maybe we’re weird.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Go to sleep,” [Name] murmurs later, nose nudging into his sternum.

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” he says, eyes fluttering to a close.

 

\---

 

The next morning, six hours later, Matsukawa steps into the studio with full caution before finding his two friends sleeping in a rather...compromising position:

 

[Name] is atop Hanamaki, in between his legs and with her head on his chest. One of Hanamaki’s legs hangs off the edge of the couch while the other is perched up, giving more space for the girl to freely move around if she wanted to. One arm is tucked behind his neck while a hand is run midway through her locks.

 

So this is what exhaustion and sleep deprivation makes of two young musicians.

 

Matsukawa does not rat them out (nor does he even mention anything about it to them or the other boys), resulting in them _not_ being scolded by the company, but the two do learn their lesson.

 

The lesson in which they should get more sleep in order not to remake that _slightly_ embarrassing situation.

 

The next following week, they take a break from working where they meet up regularly to nap together (no, they do not cuddle much; too scarred from their previous experience to do it often).

 

The other boys of ROYALTEAL follow their example, and there is one incident where their manager had come in to manually fetch them that they were welcomed with thirteen young adults sleeping in the living room of their dorm, all the boys surrounding none other than [Name] (who is usually the closest to Hanamaki, for some odd reason).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot apologise enough for my absence - I've had the most ridiculous writer's block! To be honest with all of you, I think the main reason why I haven't been posting was because I've been caught up with K-Pop...*nervous laughter* I mean, there HAS been some Haikyuu!! Idol AUs and jokes about the stage play version of Seijoh being a boyband, so I just deemed this work appropriate.
> 
> I literally have six works in the process of writing, but I've never been able to finish them. Hopefully, they'll all be up by the end of summer!
> 
> Aside from that, thank you for nearly 3K hits. I was so surprised that I was still getting notifications of kudos, totally convinced that this compilation was buried deep in many other reader-insert compilations, so thank you so so so much! Where are you guys even coming from?!
> 
> Also, this is actually a cross-post of my SVT reader-insert (if I had waited any longer to put something up, I would end up posting next year, I'm not kidding), so if you're familiar with the 'other' thirteen boys, then make sure to check it out: it's posted under the same name as this.
> 
> Thank you for being so patient with me. See you again.
> 
> Much love,  
> Teacup


End file.
